Dogging the Shipping Lanes
by Icy Mike Molson
Summary: Fianna may not like boats, but they don't have much of a choice this time...


Dogging the Shipping Lanes  
  
Disclaimer: Corax, Garou, Pentex, Black Spiral Dancers, Fianna, Glasswalkers, Shadow Lords, and all other references to Werewolf: the Apocalypse are owned by White Wolf, Inc. My use is in no way intended to challenge their ownership.  
  
Special thanks go to Dwayne Gamble for the creation of Richard Drachir, and Gordon Haight for the ideas that spawned Eamon Barry.  
  
  
I  
  
Despite the darkness, the heat and humidity of late August at Port Newark were stifling. Freighters of every type and nationality lined the docks of the shipping center, most waiting silently for the coming of the dawn and the teamsters that would unload them. Several ships, however, remained active through the graveyard shift. On these ships, dock hands worked through the predawn hours, loading and unloading cargo from some of the largest freighters.  
  
The raven perched on the mast of the oil freighter Denali didn't care much about most of the vessels. The bird's eyes, however, seemed focused on the Regina Maersk, the largest cargo ship in the world. The monstrous vessel was tied down in a specially dredged slip, but still the stern almost poked out into the shipping lanes that led through Port Newark. Newspapers had already mentioned the ship's inability to enter New York Harbor because of the harbor's relatively shallow depth, and for that reason only had the cargo ship come into Newark. Along one side of the three quarter mile length of the ship, huge cranes, seemingly dwarfed by the Regina Maersk, worked to unload the huge shipping containers from the hold, while other cranes loaded new cargo in the other side. The raven took some interest in the loading of new cargo on the vessel, and glided off of its perch on the Denali to a closer vantage point.  
  
The cargo being loaded into the Regina Maersk looked about the same as the cargo being removed. Large metal containers concealed everything, a uniform grayish black in color with the blue star of the Maersk shipping company stamped on its side. Still the bird concentrated, watching the dockhands as they went about their business. Most of them were lightly dressed because of the weather, wearing nothing more than tank tops, filthy jeans, and gloves or hats as they went about their business. Two of the men, however, caught the raven's eye as he looked on. One man was heavily bundled up despite the heat, his features hidden by a long raincoat and a wide brimmed hat pulled low over his face. The other, however, looked even more out of place. He was impeccably dressed in a pure black suit, wearing gold rimmed glasses and impossibly well groomed. Everything about the man screamed high finance. While it was possible that the man was a top executive from Maersk, top executives rarely, if ever, visited their work forces at three in the morning. The raven floated down even closer to the loading crews, landing on top of one of the cranes and peering down at the businessman as he talked with the foreman on the docks.  
  
"You ain't got a thing to worry about, Mister Venizio," the foreman said. The foreman was a huge Italian with a mop of greasy black hair stuffed under a black bandanna. He was far larger than Mister Venizio, but there was almost an aura of fear around the well dressed businessman. "We got the second shipment tonight, and we've already loaded three quarters of it onto the ship."  
  
"Excellent," Mister Venizio said, looking up at the huge vessel. "I expect the third shipment to be coming in at dawn. I'll expect your men to load that with the same speed they are presently displaying."  
  
"Dawn? Listen, Mister Venizio, these men are tired and they've already worked five hours of overtime," the foreman said, losing any trace of respect he might have had for the businessman. "There's no way that you can expect them to work another ten-"  
  
The foreman was cut off as the man in the raincoat walked up behind him and wrapped something around his neck. Mister Venizio removed his gold rimmed glasses and stepped up to within an inch of the foreman's face.  
  
"Mister Orsolino, I suggest you keep these men loading the cargo when the third shipment arrives," the businessman said, a slight smile coming to his face. "Otherwise, Mister Giambi might get a little careless and squeeze your windpipe shut. Am I understood?"  
  
"It's not me you have to bully," Mister Orsolino gasped, trying to pry the cord from around his neck. "The men'll never stay!"  
  
"Then tell them they'll be given holiday pay for their hard work," Mister Venizio said as the cord got tighter around the foreman's neck. Mister Orsolino nodded, gasping for breath. The man in the raincoat let him go. Orsolino staggered a step forward, choking and gasping for breath. When he finally removed his hands from his throat, a bright red line marked where Mister Giambi had held the garrote around his throat.  
  
"Excellent," Mister Venizio said, replacing his glasses on his nose. He looked up at the Regina Maersk again, and an almost sinister smile came across his face. "I can't wait for this ship to set sail again."  
  
With that, the businessman and the man in the raincoat turned and started away, leaving the foreman to explain the extra hours to his longshoremen.  
  
As the two men walked away, the raven glided down from its perch atop the loading crane and landed on top of one of the containers. Even up close, the containers appeared to be no different from any of a thousand other Maersk packing containers in the port. The raven sat atop the container for a long moment, watching as the foreman directed his men to finish up with the loading procedures so that they could be ready for the next shipment. The longshoremen started to protest, but the prospect of holiday pay, triple what they normally made, calmed them down quite a bit. As they finished the loading procedures for a last batch of crates, the raven took off after the two men that were walking to the gates of Port Newark.  
  
At the gates a fairly attractive young Italian woman was waiting in front of a large limo with darkly tinted windows. As they approached the gates, the man in the raincoat turned and started back through the dock warehouses, disappearing into the darkness. Mister Venizio continued straight on, smiling more amiably as he saw the woman. The woman straightened up and smoothed out her power suit as she saw Venizio, then started forward to meet the executive at the gate.  
  
"Mister Venizio, I have the truck schedule that you requested," the young woman said, holding out a thin folder. "Roadway says they apologize for the delay, but extra precautions had to be made for the cargo."  
  
"Excellent," Mister Venizio said, taking the folder and looking through it. The raven perched on the top of the gate, looking down at the pair. "I take it you've checked all these figures already, Miss Amatuzzo?"  
  
"Yes, I have," the young woman said, pushing her jet black hair back from her face. "I hope you don't mind my asking, Mister Venizio, but some of the precautions Roadway said they had to take seemed to be a bit, well, excessive for anything normal."  
  
"What we are shipping, Miss Amatuzzo, is far from normal," Mister Venizio said, putting an arm around the slightly shorter woman's shoulder. The resolve Miss Amatuzzo had shown moments before vanished as the businessman continued to smile at her. "Perhaps I'll be able to explain it later, at the office. But until then, I have some things to take care of."  
  
"Why don't you explain it to me now?" Miss Amatuzzo asked, swallowing a good deal of nervousness. Mister Venizio smiled.  
  
"Because, my dear, I have a very important meeting with Mister O'Brien to attend to," the businessman replied.  
  
"At three thirty in the morning?" Miss Amatuzzo said, a bit skeptically. Mister Venizio laughed.  
  
"Yes, I know, it's extremely late, but there are some things that just came up," Mister Venizio said. "And now that you've mentioned to me the problems Roadway is having getting the shipments through, I think I know what those problems might be. Now come on, I'll give you a lift back to the office, and then I'll be back by morning to explain everything to you."  
  
"That's alright, Mister Venizio, I brought my own car," Miss Amatuzzo said, turning and walking to a white Lexus parked on the other side of the street. "I'll be in my office for the next two hours trying to straighten out this mess with Roadway, but the foreman for the truckers keeps giving me some kind of runaround."  
  
"Teamsters," Mister Venizio said with a shrug, as if that was the answer to every labor problem. "They don't respect a woman with authority. I'll try to make it back by five. Maybe we can get a cup of coffee after that?"  
  
"Maybe," Miss Amatuzzo said, a slight smile coming to her face. "I'll see you in two."  
  
Miss Amatuzzo got into her car and drove away along the dock road, leaving Mister Venizio standing outside his limo for a short moment. Then he too got into his car and drove off.  
  
The raven watched the two cars recede into the distance for a moment, seemingly deciding which way to go. Finally, it too left the terminal, gliding out into the Newark sky after the black limousine.  
  
  
II  
  
Richard Drachir sat back on the park bench and looked out over the waters of The Narrows as he waited for his friend to return. From his viewpoint on the boardwalk of South Beach, the Verrazano Bridge glittered in the hot August night on his left, set against the backdrop of the sparse lights of southern Brooklyn. Richard looked up at the night sky for the fifth time in the last half hour, and once again noticed the three quarter moon hanging overhead in the sky, clear but for the haze that had hung over Staten Island all day. A scuffle on the boardwalk to his right caught his attention as he watched the stars. Eamon Barry grumbled a few more curses under his breath as Richard turned to watch him lean on the railing of the boardwalk, his unruly mop of red hair hanging down over his brow as he spat onto the beach below.  
  
"Where the hell is he?" Eamon demanded in a thick Irish brogue, turning back to Richard. Eamon was a big man, and looked even bigger because of his height of six foot and a couple of extra inches. Richard was slightly shorter and slightly broader than his companion, with a long mane of brown hair that hung down his back. Richard's dark eyes followed Eamon as he started to pace across the wooden walk. "I donna want to be waitin' out here all night. At least we had air conditioning back at the house!"  
  
"Relax," Richard said with a slight grin as he started to stand up. Eamon was always upset on nights like this, when he could see the three quarter moon hanging low in the sky, a dull gold sphere in the heavens. "You know Ian. He probably saw some pretty young girl somewhere, and had to find out more about her. I'm sure he'll get here."  
  
"Eventually," Eamon grumbled, looking back at the Verrazano Bridge for a moment. Both he and Richard turned a moment later as they heard someone running up the steps.  
  
"I just flew in from Newark, and boy are my arms tired!" the newcomer said. He stood maybe five feet tall, rail thin and looking no older than nineteen. Despite the heat, he still wore an old style, black Vancouver Canucks jersey that was at least a size too large, the number 16 clearly readable on either sleeve.   
  
"Where the hell have ya been, Ian?" Eamon demanded, taking a step forward. Ian backed off a step, clearly seeing the anger on the big Irishman's features, but his smile remained neatly in place. "We've been waitin' half the night for ya!"  
  
"Well, you know, I tried just asking the Maersk executives what they were shipping over the next few weeks, but that didn't work, so I thought I'd fly around Port Newark all night," Ian replied, a mischievous grin on his face. He turned his dark eyes to Richard, who hadn't yet gotten angry. "I think some secretary or something is gonna get aced tonight, too."  
  
"What?!" Richard and Eamon both exclaimed. Eamon grabbed his much smaller companion by the shoulders.  
  
"What are ya talkin' about?" the Irishman demanded. "Spit it out!"  
  
"Please, a moment to get my breath," Ian said, holding up a hand. Eamon reluctantly let him go. "Okay. So like I was saying, here I am flying over Port Newark. And the Regina Maersk is just huge, let me get that out of the way. But I see this big business guy, by the name of Mister Venizio, and his bodyguard, Mister Giambi, who's on the docks talking to the foreman, Mister Orsolino. And Venizio threatens Orsolino to keep the dock workers on the docks to unload a shipment of something coming in at dawn. But considering that everything's already packed, I can't see what it is. So anyway, this hot little Italian chick named Miss Amatuzzo comes up, and starts asking questions about why Roadway has to take so many precautions with what they're shipping. And Mister Venizio tells her to wait at her office until he gets back from a meeting with some guy named O'Brien. Now I know I'm not supposed to be drawing inferences and shit, but this guy lowered the boom on Orsolino, and he was one big dock foreman. So I think that Amatuzzo just started to find out too much, and by tomorrow night she'll wash up somewhere in the Hudson."  
  
"Great," Richard said. "Where is this Miss Amatuzzo's office?"  
  
"At Maersk, I'd figure," Ian replied. "I don't know, though. I couldn't track everyone at the same time. I followed Venizio out into Newark, but he parked in an underground lot and disappeared. I thought you guys would know where Maersk is centered at."  
  
"Alright," Richard said, scratching his chin and thinking quickly. They had to make a move in a hurry, or their one lead might disappear into the harbor somewhere with a set of cement shoes. Then he turned to Eamon, already pulling a cellular phone out of his pocket. "Well, it has to be over the bridge somewhere. Eamon, get the car. I'll give Alfredo a call and see what he knows."  
  
"Right," Eamon said, starting down the steps to the parking lot.  
  
"I can drive," Ian volunteered eagerly.  
  
"No," Richard and Eamon stated at the same time. Richard punched a number into the phone quickly as Eamon disappeared into the parking lot.  
  
"What?" an irritated voice answered after six rings.  
  
"Alfredo, we need you to find something out for us," Richard said. "Where is Maersk's offices?"  
  
"Manhattan," Alfredo replied sleepily over the phone.  
  
"Where in Manhattan?" Richard pressed.  
  
"What the hell is this about?" Alfredo asked, starting to wake up.  
  
"You told us to check out the Regina Maersk and Port Newark, and we did," Richard said. "A potential source of information might get butchered by someone named Venizio."  
  
"Venizio?" Alfredo repeated. "Shit. Alright. Get moving and head into Manhattan. You'll be getting a call on the way there from a man named Karamov. He'll tell you where to go from there."  
  
"Karamov?" Richard asked, thinking he knew the name. He couldn't place it at the time, though. "Alright. We're on our way."  
  
"Good," Alfredo said. "I'll check with the teamsters tomorrow for information. Get in touch with me when you can, and good luck."  
  
Richard hung up the phone and hurried down the stairs even as a pair of headlights appeared in the parking lot. He and Ian rushed over to the car as Eamon stopped at the near edge of the lot, waiting just long enough for them to get in before he took off again. A moment later they were heading up Father Capodano Boulevard, following the signs for the Verrazano Bridge.  
  
"So what'd he say?" Eamon asked, guiding Richard's Trans Am onto the Brooklyn bound side of the bridge.  
  
"He said someone named Karamov would call us and tell us what to do," Richard replied, holding his phone in his hand. A second later, it started to ring. "Hello?"  
  
"Mister Drachir, I presume," a man said on the other end. His voice was even and businesslike, holding the faintest trace of a Russian accent. "I am Alexei Karamov. I hear you want entry to Maersk's offices on Gaanesvoort."  
  
"Yes, we think-" Richard started. Karamov cut him off.  
  
"Be at Bank Street just off the West Side Highway in fifteen minutes," the Russian said. "I have a man at the Maersk offices casing the place. I'll let you know if anything changes."  
  
"Bank Street?" Richard repeated. "I don't know if we can make it in fifteen minutes!"  
  
"You'd better," Karamov said. "Or you might lose your source of information."  
  
There was a click on the other end as Karamov hung up.  
  
"Bank Street?" Eamon inquired, already starting to speed up.  
  
"Step on it, driver!" Ian exclaimed, leaning into the front seat. Richard pushed him back into the back seat as he turned to Eamon.  
  
"Think you can get through the Battery and across Lower Manhattan in fifteen minutes?" he asked Eamon.  
  
"I can sure as hell try," Eamon replied, flooring the pedal. The Irishman flew through Brooklyn at seventy miles an hour and hit the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel in record time, making the West Side Highway in just over six minutes. That still left the lower third of Manhattan to cover, however, and traffic was already starting to snarl despite the early hour.  
  
"Shit, I canna drive through this!" Eamon exclaimed, pounding his hands on the steering wheel.   
  
"You and Ian get going," Richard said. "I'll get the car parked and follow up as soon as I can."  
  
"You want me to run it?" Eamon asked, a bit incredulous. Richard nodded. "Why don't you go?"  
  
"Because you need the exercise," Richard said with a grin. "Work off some of that beer you had tonight. And besides, it's my car."  
  
"Thanks," Eamon grumbled. He pushed open the door and turned back to let Ian out of the car, but the boy was gone, apparently slipping out through the open T-tops. With a final grumble of protest, the Irishman started off towards the docks, running north up the side of the highway.  
  
Eamon reached the corner of Bank Street and the West Side Highway fourteen minutes after he had left Staten Island, probably a world record for any time of day. He glanced around quickly, not seeing any signs of the men he was supposed to meet or Ian, then rushed across the highway to Bank Street. Despite the heavy traffic on the main road, Bank Street seemed deserted but for a few cars parked along the left side of the thoroughfare. He turned as a match was struck and a small circle of light flared to life, and saw two men standing next to a parked black Lexus with gold trim. One of the men was dressed in an expensive, charcoal gray suit, his brown hair neatly combed to one side. While the man in the suit was no slouch, his bodyguard was far more imposing, standing nearly four inches taller and being almost as wide. Everything about the man was black, from his crew cut hair to his plain black tee shirt, jeans and combat boots, sharply contrasting his pale, almost ivory skin. It was he who had struck the match, and as he watched Eamon approach lit up a cigarette.  
  
"Karamov?" Eamon asked, turning back to the well dressed man. The suit nodded, looking the Irishman over with a professional indifference.  
  
"From what I was told, you are not Mister Drachir," Karamov said simply.  
  
"He got held up in traffic," Eamon said. "Did you see a kid wearing a Canucks jersey?"  
  
"Sorry I'm late," Ian suddenly exclaimed, running to meet the group from the West Side. "I saw the Enterprise while I was heading up this way."  
  
"Great," Eamon grumbled. Then he turned back to Karamov. "So, we were told you could help us. Is that correct?"  
  
"Yes, it is," Karamov replied, the ghost of a grin coming over his features. "We can get you entrance into the building. But you'll have to provide us with your source's name or location."  
  
"Easily done, isn't it, Ian?" Eamon said, turning to his far shorter companion. Karamov looked the boy over for a moment.  
  
"A little small, aren't you?" he stated. Ian shook his head.  
  
"I don't really do that Celtic thing," the boy replied. "Well, not how you guys do it, at any rate."  
  
"Oh," Karamov said, thinking the answer over for a second. "Well, shall we get this over with? It's fairly late, and I have things to do."  
  
The Russian started to walk up along the West Side Highway without waiting for an answer, trailed by his bodyguard. Ian and Eamon glanced at each other for a moment, then followed the two men up one block to Gaanesvoort Street.  
  
Angela Amatuzzo slammed the phone down and sat back at her desk, letting her anger diffuse before she tried to do any of the paperwork that seemed to be piling up at an inordinate rate. She still had no idea why Roadway was giving her the runaround the way it was, but something had to be going on. What was Venizio actually shipping? The cargoes should have been run of the mill material; construction supplies out of western Pennsylvania earmarked for the Regina Maersk's final destination in western France. But she knew that half the tests that had been called for by the Interstate Commerce Commission had nothing to do with construction materials. She didn't know of any radiation contaminants to be found in ten penny nails and oak four by fours. She turned abruptly as there was a knock at her door.   
  
"Come in," Angela called out irritably, not in the mood to deal with security any more tonight. They might have been upset with having her in the office at a quarter to four in the morning, but she was twice as upset with having to deal with Roadway's chief dispatcher. The door opened as she stood up from her desk. "Listen, guys, just don't bother coming back to check any more. I'm not a thief and I'm not doing corporate espionage."  
  
Angela expected another brusque reply to her request, but instead the four men that walked into her office remained silent. All of them were dressed in sharp black pin stripe suits, and each one's face remained shielded from view by broad brimmed hats.  
  
"What, did I miss my invitation for the Twenties Masquerade Ball?" Angela asked, watching the four men nervously. One shut the door silently as the other three spread out around her. "Okay, who are you guys? What's going on?"  
  
"Sometimes, ignorance is bliss," the man in the center said. He reached into his jacket and produced a rather large handgun.  
  
Eamon and Ian caught up with Karamov and his bodyguard just at the door to Maersk's offices in a twenty story glass skyscraper. The two men were already inside, standing at the security desk.  
  
"Whoever's after her didn't want witnesses," Alexei said, turning around. "The desk guards are dead."  
  
"Dead? Already?" Eamon said. Alexei nodded.   
  
"What is your source's name?" the Russian demanded. His bodyguard was already looking through the register for the night.  
  
"Amatuzzo," Ian replied, glancing around the office. The bodyguard looked up from the register.  
  
"Two forty-one," he said, closing the book. Alexei turned and hurried to the stairs, the other three close behind him.  
  
Alexei reached the top of the stairs just as a gun went off and a woman screamed from somewhere down the hall. He turned and raced for the noise, drawing a large, wide bladed knife from under the back of his suit jacket as he reached the door. Eamon had to stop for a second and admire the blade; the knife seemed made entirely of black glass, carved with four sigils down the flat of the blade. Over a foot and a half in length, the weapon was a truly fine creation, at least as far as aesthetic standards went. He forgot about the weapon, however, as the Russian kicked in the office door and rushed through it. Eamon was only a step behind, nearly getting run over as Karamov's bodyguard tried to squeeze past him.  
  
The four men inside the room turned in shock as Angela's office door burst in off its hinges. Karamov stopped as he entered the room and took in the four men with a quick glance. Eamon moved quickly to his left and his bodyguard to his right. For a moment, no one did anything. The four men inside, dressed in pin stripe suits and fedoras, were horribly deformed, their faces appearing more like melted wax than skin. The leader of the group looked over Alexei for a moment, then bared his fangs.  
  
"Karamov," the man in the center said, his voice little more than a sneer.  
  
"Vampires," Alexei grumbled. "Always vampires."  
  
Eamon rushed at the closest vampire, his body already twisting and deforming as he covered the distance. In only a second, the red haired Irishman had gone from just over six feet to nearly nine and a half feet tall, his body nearly quadrupling in mass as long, red fur sprouted from his skin. The vampire in front of him fired madly into the werewolf, but Eamon took it in stride and hit the vampire head on, driving his massive claws through his opponent's chest and nearly ripping out his heart with a single strike. He turned to help Alexei, but the Russian and his bodyguard had also transformed into werewolves to handle their problems. Alexei ducked under two shots and caught his vampire moving sideways, wielding his klaive underhanded and drawing a long slash across his opponent's chest. Before the vampire hit the ground, Karamov rammed the wide bladed knife straight through the vampire's shoulder, pinning him to the ground. Eamon thought of helping Karamov's bodyguard next, but the big, black furred werewolf hardly needed any help; one vampire lay dead at his feet in two pieces, while the other was currently being stripped of his extremities. He turned as there was a scream of terror from the hallway, and rushed out ready to confront another vampire. As he ducked out of the office, however, he saw a fifth vampire racing away from him, his clothes and hair bursting into flames. The reason for that was evident; brilliant sunlight was shining through the hallway, bathing the walls in its warm glow as it easily overcame the weak flourescent bulbs set at regular intervals along the ceiling. The source of the sunlight was a bright, daggerlike shard of glass in Ian's hand. As he heard his oversized companion enter the hall, the boy turned and shrugged, as if he was completely confused with the vampire's reaction to the shard of sunlight.  
  
"I only asked him if he knew where Maersk's customer service desk was," Ian said. He tucked the shard away into his waistline under his jersey, and joined Eamon as he reverted to his human guise and walked back into the office.  
  
Alexei looked up at Eamon as he and Ian walked into the office. The vampire that Karamov had evidently tried to capture must have resisted, because his head now rested on the floor a good foot and a half away from the rest of his body. Eamon looked past the Russian and his bodyguard to see Miss Amatuzzo plastered against the windows of the office; she probably would have jumped if there was no glass between her and the outside. Ian had certainly been right about the young woman; despite the handicap of being Italian, she was, as Ian had often remarked about such women, a hottie with a body.  
  
"Your information source," the bodyguard said, nudging Eamon's shoulder. The Irishman quickly realized that he was staring, and stopped immediately. He heard a snicker behind him, and kicked Ian in the shin. A satisfying yelp of pain accompanied his kick.  
  
"Miss Amatuzzo?" Eamon asked. The woman nodded her head, still panic stricken. "Come on. This office won't be safe for you."  
  
"Who the hell are you guys?" Miss Amatuzzo asked in fright, not moving from her position. Eamon took a step towards her, and she backed away as much as she could along the glass.  
  
"Please, just come with us and everything will be explained," Eamon said.  
  
"But you- and they- but how-…" Miss Amatuzzo trailed off, her mind still trying to process the massive amount of stimulus it had just absorbed.  
  
"Listen, Miss Amatuzzo, we know Mister Venizio tried to have you whacked, and if he finds you here, he'll probably try a second time," Ian said, stepping past Eamon. He flashed a disarming smile at the woman, and held his hands out at his sides. "Trust me, no one's going to try and hurt you. And if they do, they'll have to go through me."  
  
Slowly Miss Amatuzzo took a step back toward Ian. The boy turned to Eamon, grinning.  
  
"I donna know how ya do it, Ian," Eamon said, covering the disgusted look on his face with one bloody hand.  
  
III  
  
The sun was just starting to shine in through the door of the study as Alfredo Rigatelli typed away at his computer. Richard had watched the fairly short Italian work for the last two hours as the hacker maneuvered his way through Maersk's system files, using the passwords Angela Amatuzzo had supplied to get him entrance. To Richard, most of the computer jargon appearing on the screen meant little to nothing to him, but he could tell that Alfredo was making definite progress through the system. While the information that could be retrieved from the computer system would certainly be important, Richard had long since gotten bored of standing behind Alfredo and watching passwords and seemingly random files appear on the screen at irregular intervals. He had been up all night and most of the day before, but despite his fatigue he wanted to know what Alfredo came up with as soon as he came up with it. Idly, Richard wandered back to the study door and looked across the second floor hall of Alfredo's house to the far room. The large picture window set in the far wall gave an impressive view of the sun rising over Raritan Bay, yet another reminder of how long he had been awake.  
  
"Take a look," Alfredo said without glancing up from his computer. "The view from the den is pretty nice."  
  
Richard nodded, stifled a yawn, and walked across the narrow, red carpeted hall to Alfredo's sitting room. Alfredo had been right; the view of the morning sun rising over the bay was as picturesque a view as one could hope for in the New York area, and as he watched the sun rise Richard's mind began to wander. For anyone looking in on the house, the group gathered would have been almost completely unexplainable. Alfredo Rigatelli was an almost pure bred Italian rumored to have connections to the Genovese crime family in New York City, while Richard was a twenty-eight year old college dropout and Eamon was an Irish immigrant with no illegitimate ties(or, at least none in the U.S.) to speak of. To a better trained observer, however, the group made perfect sense. Just about everyone in the house was either a werewolf or a kinfolk of one.   
  
Well, Richard amended, Ian wasn't a Garou, as the werewolves called themselves, but as a wereraven, or Corax, he had every right to be there. And while the Glasswalkers, the largely Italian descended tribe of werewolves to which Alfredo belonged, and the Fianna, the Celtic tribe of werewolves that Richard and Eamon claimed ties to, weren't the closest of friends, they did, on occasion, work together. When Alfredo's typical network of spies and informants had failed to turn up anything more than a few rumors about something big going on in the Maersk shipping lines, the Glasswalker had called in the pair of Fianna and their Corax ally to work the situation from their own angles.  
  
"Come here," Alfredo called out from the study suddenly, bringing Richard back from his mental wanderings. The Fianna turned and walked quickly back into the study. "Take a look at this."  
  
Richard looked down at the computer screen, and for a moment was completely unimpressed by what he saw. The screen was full of shipping times and dates, cargo capacities of ships, and invoices for five or six freighters docked in Port Newark.  
  
"So?" the Fianna asked, looking back to the Italian.  
  
"What do you mean, 'So'?" Alfredo demanded. He pointed to one ship's invoice. "Aren't you reading any of this?"  
  
Richard looked it over for a moment before he realized what he was reading. Fatigue must have been dulling his senses to miss something like this, the Fianna thought.  
  
"Spent plutonium rods?" Richard read. His mind was instantly awake again as he continued to look over the invoice. "Reactor waste? What the hell is this?"  
  
"The ship's invoice for those Roadway shipments from Pennsylvania," Alfredo replied. "It seems our friend here has gone through a lot of trouble to conceal the fact that he's shipping out all sorts of reactor waste products on the Regina Maersk. Which means they probably don't plan on going through regular customs with this cargo."  
  
"Why the hell would they want to ship all of this to Europe?" Richard asked, looking over the invoice. Alfredo moved his mouse a little, and opened up another document.  
  
"Maybe they don't," the Glasswalker said evenly, tapping on the screen. Richard read over the document for a moment, then stopped as his eyes went wide.  
  
"They're going to sink it," the Fianna said quietly.  
  
"And they're going to make sure that there's a couple of leaks in the shipping containers, so that plenty of radioactive waste will leak out into the North Atlantic," Alfredo added. "And we're talking some pretty concentrated shit here."  
  
"That'll contaminate the entire region!" Richard exclaimed. Alfredo nodded.  
"I don't know why they're doing it all the way out in the Atlantic while they have so much area around here to contaminate, but this is going to make the Exxon Valdez look like a minor nuisance," Alfredo said. "We have to do something about it."  
  
"Can we go through legal channels?" Richard asked. "File a law suit? This should be more than enough to hold the Regina Maersk in port until we can get that shit off."  
  
"Maersk and Pentex will both have legions of lawyers to deal with that eventuality, especially now," Alfredo said. "The ship sails in three days, and by the time we got a law suit on track the boat would be at the bottom of the ocean. And we can't even blow up the ship, because if what your feathery friend is saying is right, at least half of the cargo is aboard."  
  
"How about a strike?" Richard suggested. "If the teamsters refuse to load, or the sailors refuse to sail, the ship can't get out of the harbor."  
  
"The longshoremen don't have a reason to strike," Alfredo said, shaking his head. "They just renegotiated their contract successfully in April. And the sailors aren't even part of a union. Most of them aren't even American."  
  
"There has to be some kind of way to stop that ship from sinking," Richard said, turning away from the computer and trying to come up with some kind of solution.  
  
"There might be," Alfredo said after a long silence. Richard turned back to him. "If we could get two or three people aboard that ship, maybe they could stop the rest of the crew from sinking the ship."  
  
"How would we get someone aboard as crew now?" Richard asked, turning back to Alfredo  
  
"Maersk will keep hiring crew until the day she sets sail," Alfredo replied. "They hire a lot of unskilled labor, kind of indenturing them for passage to Europe. You could easily walk in and get signed on as crew."  
  
"Yeah, but who-" Richard started. He stopped as he realized what Alfredo said. "What do you mean, 'you'?"  
  
"I mean, you, Eamon, and Ian," the Glasswalker clarified. "The three of you aren't known by the local Pentex operatives here. Most of the Glasswalkers, Bone Gnawers, and Shadow Lords are. Remember what Eamon said about the vampires' reaction to Karamov? They picked him out in a second. The same thing will happen if any of the locals try to get on that boat."  
  
"Yeah, but none of us have ever been on a ship before," Richard protested. "We wouldn't know what to do on it."  
  
"They'll teach you pretty quick," Alfredo assured the Fianna. "Besides, you don't think Maersk is going to waste a good crew on a ship they're going to sink, do you? You three are perfect for the job!"  
  
"That makes me feel a whole lot better," Richard grumbled.  
  
"The fate of the North Atlantic is resting on your shoulders," Alfredo said. "I'll try and guide the Coast Guard out there myself as soon as we hear news about the ship."  
  
"I'll have to ask Ian and Eamon," Richard started, "but I don't think-"  
  
"Great!" Alfredo interrupted, patting Richard on the arm. "I knew the three of you would come through for us!"  
  
"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go break the news to Eamon and Ian," Richard grumbled. Alfredo certainly knew when to "request" services from his associates; a wide awake Richard probably would have found a way out of this mess. "Where'd they go?"  
  
"Where'd that little runt go?" Eamon growled, looking around the white and pink tiled dining room of Mike's Place. He, Ian, and Angela had left Alfredo's over twenty minutes ago to come to the diner, looking for food and something to do while the Glasswalker broke through Maersk's computer security. Ian had gotten up almost five minutes ago, saying he wanted a toothpick from the front counter. Seated where they were, Eamon couldn't tell if Ian had been telling the truth, but neither he nor the waitress, a pretty blond haired girl no older than the Corax was, had been back to the table since. He looked across the table at Angela, who was staring down into her cup of coffee. She had been quiet through most of breakfast, but that might have been because Ian had been running his mouth for almost twenty minutes straight. "Ya alright, lass?"  
  
"Yeah, considering everything that happened tonight," Angela replied, looking up from the table. She hesitated a moment, looking a bit nervous and unsure as to how to continue the conversation. "So, you guys, well, you're werewolves."  
  
"Most of us," Eamon replied, even now making sure that no one else was in the dining room. Apparently, Tuesdays at ten to six in the morning weren't very popular times for breakfast at the diner. "'Ceptin' Ian. He's a wereraven. Corax, they're called."  
  
"And that... ritual that guy performed, it was so that I could, what?" Angela inquired.  
  
"See us and not suffer from the Delirium," Eamon answered. "The Delirium is why you canna remember what happened at your office."  
  
"Right," Angela said. "And the ones that attacked me earlier were…"  
  
"Vampires," Eamon finished. "Nosferatu, judging by their horrible looks. They're the only clan I can tell by sight."  
  
"This is quite a bit to take in," Angela said with a nervous laugh. "So, what, do you howl at the moon? Or maybe chase cars for fun? Last night wasn't a full moon, was it?"  
  
"Nah, it wasn't," Eamon replied. "Only three quarters, the Galliard moon. It's the one I was born under. Donna believe that American Werewolf in Paris crap. We draw our power from the moon, but we can change whenever we please, for the most part. And, as to why we're here, we're protecting Gaia."  
  
"Oh, protecting Gaia," Angela said. "What does that mean?"  
  
"Well, it's a long story," Eamon said. "Basically, there's people, like the people that run Pentex, that want to destroy the earth, or, as we call her, Gaia, and we're trying to stop them."  
  
"Okay, so some multinational megacorporation is trying to destroy the earth," Angela said. "That makes no sense."  
  
"Neither does the fact that I could become nine feet of walking destruction right now if I wanted to," Eamon said with a bit of a smile. Angela looked ready to argue the point, but couldn't come up with a logical argument.  
  
"Okay, you win," Angela said. They sat in silence for a moment.  
  
"So how long have you been working at Maersk?" Eamon inquired, after he had taken a sip of his coffee and one of Ian's French toast sticks.  
  
"Only two years," Angela replied. "I got the job fresh out of college."  
  
"Go to NYU?" Eamon guessed. Angela shook her head.   
  
"SUNY Albany," she replied. "I did well enough to get noticed by Venizio, I guess. He's the one that suggested I put my application in with Maersk. At first I wasn't sure if I wanted to work for them, but the pay was right and I got to live in Manhattan with very reduced rent. What about you?"  
  
"I went to the School of Hard Knocks in Belfast," Eamon replied, looking down. "I dinna have much use for school when I was getting shot at by Brits."  
  
"That's terrible," Angela said. "Did you come to America to get away?"  
  
"Ya might say that," Eamon replied. "I was wanted for hiding suspected IRA terrorists. I knew a friend o' mine who had come over a year or two before, and I got in touch with him. He said he knew a couple o' people here that might like to see me."  
  
"Did they all turn into big furry monsters?" Angela asked with a bit of a smile. It was the most relaxed Eamon had seen her yet.  
  
"Aye, they did," the Irishman replied with a grin. "'Ceptin' Ian, but he still sprouts feathers."  
  
They sat together for another moment in silence, as Angela took another sip of coffee and Eamon finished off his orange juice.  
  
"So," Angela started, putting her coffee cup down, "I heard that everyone's Irish on Saint Patrick's Day except for the gays and the Italians. That true?"  
  
"Where'd you hear that?" Eamon asked, thinking that he himself might have said that in the recent past.  
  
"The Simpsons," Angela answered with a slight smile. "So is it true?"  
  
Eamon looked at her for a long moment. He was trying to think of an answer when Ian came back, chewing on a toothpick and dragging the waitress along by the wrist.  
  
"Did I miss anything?" the Corax asked with a smirk, brushing back into his seat next to Eamon. "Sorry, but Wendy and I were discussing, well, discussing the virtues of working the breakfast shift here."  
  
"Oh," Eamon said. He looked up at Wendy. "Just the check, please."  
  
"Sure," Wendy said, blushing a little. She turned and hurried back to the cash register.  
  
"I need to use the ladies' room," Angela said quickly, before Eamon could turn back to her. She got up quickly and started down the aisle. Ian was nearly leaning out of the booth to watch her go until the Irishman grabbed him by his jersey's collar.  
  
"Would ya stop that for once?" the Fianna ordered. "Ye're an embarrassment. I'm surprised yer bird brained fellows haven't thrown ya out of the tree yet."  
  
"Aw, is big bad Eamon all sweet on the hot little Italian chick?" Ian asked, turning to the Irishman. Eamon fought back an irresistible urge to deck the Corax on the spot.  
  
"She's a greasy wop," Eamon declared in a huff, turning away from Ian. Eamon refused to believe that he might actually be considering a relationship with an Italian; his grandmother would have had him summarily executed if he had still been in Belfast. The Corax started to laugh.  
  
"Oh, come on, at least I don't think she's Sicilian," Ian said with a chuckle. "Be happy for that much. She's all over you. Go for it!"  
  
"Yer a sick little bird," Eamon said, turning back to his companion. "By the way, ye've got lipstick on ya."  
  
"I do?" Ian said, picking up his napkin and wiping off his mouth. "Thanks. I wouldn't've caught that without you."  
  
"I still donna know how ya do it," Eamon grumbled, dropping his head in his hands. Then he stood up and started out of the diner.  
  
"What about the tip?" Ian asked, still sitting at the table. Eamon turned back to him and shrugged.  
  
"I thought ya already gave her one," the Irishman said with a sardonic grin. Then he turned and walked out of the dining room. Ian reached into his pocket and scrounged out a few dollars, put them down next to his plate, then hurried after Eamon as he and Angela started out of the diner to drive the mile or so back to Alfredo's palatial home.  
  
Richard had only just walked out of the house when he saw Alfredo's "spare" Cadillac roll back into the driveway. Ian, Angela, and Eamon all got out of the car and started up to the door. As Eamon reached the top of the three steps in front of the house, he stopped and looked at Richard.  
  
"Is something wrong?" he asked after a short moment. "If there isn't, we'd like to get a little sleep. It's been a long night."  
  
"I need to talk to you and Ian," Richard said. "Alone, if that's alright."  
  
"That's fine," Angela said, picking up her cue to leave. "That just means I get first choice of beds."  
  
Angela walked past Richard and into the house, leaving the three men on the porch. Ian sat back on the wrought iron railing of the steps and looked inquisitively at Richard.  
  
"Inside," Richard said. Ian hopped down off the railing, and he and Eamon followed Richard into the white carpeted living room just to the left of the foyer. Finally, the Fianna turned to his two companions. "A situation's come up that we most likely have to deal with."  
  
"This have anything to do with the Regina Maersk?" Ian inquired, his tone implying that he already knew the answer.  
  
"It does," Alfredo said, walking into the living room from the kitchen entrance behind Richard. Richard nodded in agreement. "Richard already knows about this, and though he was very enthusiastic about it, didn't want to do anything without your consent, which I'm sure you'll give after hearing the severity of the situation."  
  
"Richard, what did you volunteer us for?" Ian asked, looking to his far taller friend. Eamon turned an identical quizzical expression on his tribemate.  
  
"Nicco Venizio, the man you so deftly spied on for us last night, is planning to sink the Regina Maersk somewhere in the middle of the North Atlantic," Alfredo explained. "This in itself isn't all bad, except for the fact that the ship will be carrying radioactive waste products in containers designed to slowly leak into the ocean. While we don't know why they're doing this, we do know that it will be the worst environmental disaster by far in history, and could contaminate the shores of Europe, Africa, and North America."  
  
"Sounds pretty bad," Eamon commented. "So, what do you want us to do?"  
  
"Sail with it and make sure the ship reaches Europe," Alfredo replied. He continued as he saw both Eamon's and Ian's blank stares. "By that time, I'm certain I can get environmental inspectors to seize the ship. The time you spend at sea will give me, as well as a few other legal Glass Walkers, time enough to go through legal channels. But we can't do anything while it's in international waters. Just keep it afloat until it reaches port in France."  
  
"This is insane!" Eamon exclaimed. "Do I look like some Dago dock hand to you?"  
  
"No, I was thinking you look more like a Mick dock hand," Alfredo replied, losing a little of the humor in his voice. "They do exist, you know. A few IRA people come across like that, actually. I'd hate to see them get caught before sympathizers like you could get to them."  
  
"That's a dirty shot," Eamon growled.  
  
"I'd like to be a little more tactful about it, but quite frankly, we don't have the time for that right now," Alfredo said. "You three are our best chance of keeping that ship afloat until it reaches France."  
  
"This may be a great idea for them, but what about me?" Ian asked. "I mean, I'm five foot tall and ninety pounds. I'm hardly sailor material."  
  
"Too bad they don't have a crow's nest," Eamon snickered. Richard elbowed him in the ribs.  
  
"Oh, I'm sure they can find something for someone of your diminutive size to do," Alfredo said. "Either that, or stow away. They probably won't throw you off once they're out in the Atlantic."  
  
"That makes me feel a lot better," Ian grumbled.  
  
"Like it or not, someone has to do it, and no one else in the city has as good a chance of getting on board without being noticed," Richard said. "Besides, Ian, think of Paris. You'll have to try picking up girls in a different language. That should be enough incentive for you to go."  
  
"Well, there is that," Ian said, considering it.  
  
"I have no interest in dealing with a bunch of frogs," Eamon stated.  
  
"Germany is right next to France," Ian said. "And they have a lot of beer."  
  
"A lot of beer," Eamon repeated.  
  
"All sorts of beer," Richard added. "Dark beer, light beer, lagers, porters, pale ales, hefe-weizens..."  
  
"Alright," Eamon finally snapped. "I'll go on the damn boat. Though I'll probably regret this."  
  
"Great!" Alfredo said with a big smile. "Why don't you guys get some sleep, and later on today I'll let you know where to go to get set up as sailors on the Regina Maersk."  
  
Alfredo walked back into the kitchen, whistling as he went. Eamon turned to Richard.  
  
"I hate you," he said simply. "I hate boats. And now I hate you."  
  
"Life's tough," Richard said with a grin. He turned and started for the stairs. "I've got the guest bedroom."  
  
IV  
  
It was almost eight o'clock, but the last rays of the sun were just disappearing over the Newark skyline as Richard and Eamon made their way through the bustling dock yards of Port Newark. A huge number of cargo ships, tankers, and other vessels were docked in the harbor, but none of them stood out like the Regina Maersk. Eamon stopped as he saw the freighter bearing the Maersk star, sitting silently in its slip at the end of the shipyards. Even being told its dimensions hadn't prepared the Irishman for the sight of the behemoth.  
  
"Mother of God," the Irishman said softly. Richard stopped next to him, and nodded in wordless agreement. The next largest ship in the harbor seemed to be dwarfed by the juggernaut, and the huge cranes lifting cargo onto it looked as though they were toys scattered around the vessel. After a moment, the older Fianna nudged his companion.  
  
"Come on," Richard said simply, pointing to a large building that served both as an office and a warehouse. "We have to sign onto that ship before they fill out the roster."  
  
The two Fianna continued through the port, leaving the Regina Maersk behind and making their way through the horde of longshoremen heading off duty. They walked up the stairs on the side of the large warehouse building, and stepped into a dim, hot office made of sheet metal and brick, the only relief from the heat being provided from a squeaky ceiling fan. Five men were gathered around the only desk in the office, going over an assortment of documents. They looked up as Richard pushed open the door and he and Eamon entered the office.  
  
"What can I do for you?" one of the men asked, standing up to greet the newcomers. He was an Italian man with what had been slicked back black hair, but the office's lack of air conditioning had turned his hair into a sweat soaked mess. He was dressed only in a white dress shirt stained with sweat and an untied tie. The other men were obviously not office workers, judging from their filthy jeans and sleeveless shirts.  
  
"We're looking to set sail for France in the next couple of days," Richard replied. "We don't have much money, so we thought we'd work our way across the Atlantic."  
  
"Really," the man said, taking a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiping his sweat soaked brow. "Have you had any shipboard experience?"  
  
"No, but we've strong backs and the willingness to learn as we go," Eamon replied. "I used to work for a shipping company in Belfast. Not on ships, but with cargo they carried out"  
  
"No experience," the man said, glancing at one of the longshoremen. "What do you think? Can you use them?"  
  
"I could always use a couple of strong backs on a freighter," the man replied, smiling a little as he pushed back his long, greasy black hair. He walked up to Eamon and Richard, and looked them over. "No medical problems?"  
  
"None," Richard replied. Eamon nodded his agreement.  
  
"Great," the man said. He gestured to the man in the dress shirt. "Sign up with Mister Cavaluzzi here and be on the docks in two days with your gear. Until then, you're on your own."  
  
"Do ya think we can see the ship today?" Eamon inquired. "I'd like to see what we'll be working in before we leave."  
  
"Certainly," the longshoreman said. "And you'll be working on a beauty of a ship, too. the Regina Maersk, biggest freighter in the world."  
  
"Sounds like fun," Richard said, filling out a form that the man in the dress shirt had handed him. He handed it back a moment later, completely filled out. "Okay, let's see this ship."  
  
"Sure thing," the longshoreman said. "Oh, by the way, my name's Arturo. Arturo Baerga."  
  
"Richard Donovan," Richard introduced. "This is my cousin, Eamon."  
  
Arturo Baerga led Richard and Eamon down onto the piers, then out to the Regina Maersk itself. From the relatively long distance they had seen the ship from before, it was huge. Standing next to it, the vessel seemed to stretch on forever. Arturo led the two up a large ladder and onto the massive main deck of the ship, and waved his arm out at the deck.  
  
"Chances are, you two are gonna get to know this deck pretty well," the man said. "You'll probably be the ones to mop it when need be."  
  
"Sounds like fun," Eamon remarked dryly. Arturo smiled.  
  
"Now, if you follow me, I'll show you where your quarters will be," he said, leading them along the deck. They were led into the gigantic hold through a door set in the side of the bridge, and descended a flight of stairs to a narrow hallway lit at regular intervals by hanging lights. Arturo made his way through the hall into a large room with several bunks, and turned back to them.  
  
"This is the main bunk room," the sailor said, displaying the area with a sweep of his hand. The room was certainly not made for comfort; thirty bunks had been squeezed into a room built for twenty, and a single table with long benches dominated the center of the chamber. "Chances are you two will be bunking in here. If you go through this room, you'll find the galley. The forward hold is just up the walkway about fifteen yards, and the aft cargo hold just ten yards in the opposite direction. The engine room is in the stern, but you guys won't really have to worry about that."  
  
"May we see the cargo holds?" Richard inquired. Arturo nodded, and led the two back out to the walkway and towards the front of the ship.  
  
When they reached the forward hold, Eamon and Richard both looked out over it in amazement. From their position on a catwalk above it, the cargo hold looked like some huge, dimly lit cavern with walls of steel and hills of grayish black shipping containers. The hold seemed to stretch on forever towards the front, and even looking across the ship the far wall was only vaguely noticeable.  
  
"It's huge," Richard said quietly. "Even bigger than it looked from the outside."  
  
"Ya need a map and a car just ta get around it," Eamon added. Arturo nodded proudly, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he looked out over the hold.  
  
"Yeah, it's a bit large," the sailor said. "But don't worry. I'm sure you'll get used to it by the time we reach France. Have you seen enough yet?"  
  
What are we shipping?" Richard inquired.  
  
"All sorts of things," Arturo replied. "There's some minivans and computer equipment, but mostly construction material."  
  
"That's all?" Eamon asked. "I mean, the ship seems so huge, it seems like a lot of construction material."  
  
"It is," Arturo confirmed. "But we're using this baby because there was a big demand for it through Western Europe. I don't know if they plan on rebuilding a city or something, but I just load the boat. Well, come on, it's time for me to get home. I've been working so much overtime because of this damn boat, I don't know what my house looks like any more."  
  
Arturo led the two Fianna off the boat, then turned to them as they reached the end of the pier.  
  
"See you in two days," the sailor said, already starting off towards the city proper. Eamon and Richard watched him go for a moment, then the Irishman turned to his companion.  
  
"Anything about that guy seem strange to you?" Eamon asked.  
  
"No, I don't think so," Richard replied. "Why?"  
  
"Nothing," Eamon said. "Just me nerves, I guess. You ready to get back to New York?"  
  
"Sure am," Richard replied. He looked out over the water for a moment, then turned back to the gates of Port Newark. "Well, we've only got two days left," the Fianna said. "I guess we should make them count."  
  
"Yeah, especially since this may be the last time we see dry land," Eamon grumbled as they walked out of the dockyards.  
  
"I can't believe I'm getting stuck on a damn boat," Ian complained, scoring his third goal of the night on the computer controlled New Jersey Devils. Playing the Saint Louis Blues on Alfredo's Playstation didn't seem right without Brett Hull on the team, but Pierre Turgeon and Pavol Demitra were proving that they no longer needed the All Star right winger to do serious damage. "I mean, what the hell am I gonna do on a boat? I don't like swimming, I'm not huge, and there aren't even any girls!"  
  
"Poor baby," Alfredo said in a mocking tone, sitting on the couch behind Ian and watching the game absently. He took a sip of his red wine before he continued. "You've always been the lookout for your drunken friends. Now you just have to do it on a boat. No one'll be able to cover that boat better than a raven."  
  
"How about a sea gull?" Ian asked sarcastically.  
  
"Do you know any weregulls?" Alfredo asked with a touch of humor. Ian turned back to him as a virtual Chris Pronger checked a virtual Bobby Holik into the boards.  
  
"Oh, I forgot the legendary humor of the Glasswalkers," the Corax said, turning back to his game in time to pick up the puck and start back into the Devils' zone. "Watch this. The Mac is gonna shoot."  
  
"You could at least play the Rangers instead of a team from Saint Louis," Alfredo commented as Al MacInnis fired a shot from the blue line. The puck bounced off of the goalie in time for Russ Courtnall to pick the puck up and shoot again. Martin Brodeur turned the shot aside.  
  
"Oh, come on, God couldn't've stopped that rebound!" Ian complained to the TV screen. Alfredo chuckled.   
  
"I guess Brodeur is God, then," Alfredo remarked. "Either that, or you're not half as good as you keep saying you are."  
  
"You're lucky I'm in the middle of a game," Ian said, concentrating on getting the puck back from Lyle Odelein on the side boards. Alfredo looked up as the door opened and Eamon and Richard walked in.  
  
"So, how'd the interview go?" the Glasswalker inquired.  
  
"Well, we're on, at any rate," Richard answered. "Nothing seemed to go wrong. Gave us the nickel tour, signed our names down, and we show up in two days to set sail."  
  
"Oh good, I don't have to go," Ian said, most of his attention still on the television.  
  
"Yes you do, stowaway boy," Eamon stated. "If I'm going on that damn boat, so are you."  
  
"But I'm just no good at hiding," Ian protested. Richard and Eamon both sneezed out something that sounded like the word bullshit. "Really!"  
  
"You're not getting out of it, Ian," Richard said. "Just keep thinking about French girls. Keep thinking about Paris."  
  
Ian said nothing for a long moment as Pavol Demitra fired another shot on Brodeur.  
  
"I hate you for that," the Corax finally said. The second period came to a close, and Ian turned to Eamon.  
  
"Angela's upstairs," he said with a bit of a smirk. "I think she was looking for you earlier."  
  
"Ian, I am going to wring your scrawny little neck if you keep this up," Eamon said. Richard chuckled next to him. "And you shut it!"  
  
"Sorry," Richard said. Then he turned his attention to the television. "So, Ian, you ready to get beat down at that?"  
  
"Get the other controller," Ian said, resetting the Playstation. "But I'm Saint Louis."  
  
"Bastard," Richard said. "Okay, I'll take Chicago."  
  
"What the hell is it with Saint Louis?" Alfredo asked, turning to Eamon.  
  
"Don't ask," the Irishman replied. "It's better that ya donna know. Well, I think I'll be turning in now."  
  
"Sure," Ian said, turning and smirking at Eamon.  
  
"Have a good night," Richard said with an equally irritating grin.  
  
"Shut it, both of ya!" Eamon stated, starting for the stairs to the second floor.  
  
He reached the top of the stairs to find Angela coming out of the room that Alfredo had given her. They both stopped for a moment, looking each other over.  
  
"Did they buy it?" Angela asked.  
  
"Aye, they did," Eamon replied. "I'll be shipping out in two days, thanks to Richard."  
  
"So you'll be playing the part of a Mick dock hand," Angela concluded. Eamon furrowed his brow in confusion.  
  
"What does that mean?" the Irishman asked, reminding himself not to get too upset yet.  
  
"Oh, just that I heard what you said this morning," Angela replied. "About Dago dockhands."  
  
"Oh, come on, I was just kidding around," Eamon said. Half of him wanted to take pride in his previous statement, but the other half was already berating himself for saying something so stupid. "I dinna mean it, honest!"  
  
"Of course you didn't," Angela said, starting to turn around and walk back to her room. Eamon took a quick step and caught her by the arm.  
  
"Listen, sometimes I donna think before I speak," the Irishman said, trying to explain himself. "I grew up in a place where Italians were considered the spawn of Satan. But I donna really think that."  
  
"It's alright," Angela said, a bit coldly. "After all, we Italians don't exactly think highly of any potato farming Mick."  
  
"Come on, Angela!" Eamon exclaimed. "I'm trying to apologize here!"  
  
Angela looked up at him for a moment with an icy gaze, but then turned her eyes to the floor.  
  
"I know," she finally said, sounding a bit embarrassed. "I'm just really strung out from these last couple of days."  
  
"Me too," Eamon agreed. "I tell ye what. If ya can find a decent restaurant around here, even an Italian one, I'll buy ye dinner tomorrow night as a formal apology. Good enough?"  
  
Angela hesitated a long moment.  
  
"Sure," she finally said, smiling a little. They shared an awkward moment of silence, then Angela leaned in and gave the Irishman a hug that he warmly returned. "I'll see you in the morning, then," the young woman said with a bit of a smile.   
  
"I certainly hope so," Eamon said, letting her go. Angela turned and walked back into her room. For a long moment Eamon stood in the hall, then turned back to his bedroom. He paused only long enough to smack the door of the study open, eliciting a yelp of pain from Ian as the Corax was hit in the head.  
  
V  
  
"You think they got home yet?"  
  
"Listen, Ian, I understand that you think this is one of the funniest things Eamon's ever done, and I'd even have to agree with you, but just let him have a little time alone with her," Richard said as he and Ian walked into Alfredo's house. The Glasswalker had left early in the day on business and turned the house over to his four guests, and now the first floor was silent and still. Ian started into the kitchen as Richard moved for the bathroom. "Besides, he may never see this girl again. Give him a chance to be you for a day."  
  
"Oh, that's insulting!" Ian retorted, his voice slurring slightly as he started to rifle through the refrigerator. One thing Ian had never learned was to not try to keep up when Richard or Eamon started drinking; the boy wasn't Irish and he weighed about half of what the two Fianna did, give or take a few pounds. Nights when he tried to keep up usually ended either with Ian bent over a toilet bowl blaming his companions for getting him so drunk or with Richard trying to keep Ian from fighting some extremely large, extremely jealous boyfriend or husband. "I would have been in bed with her last night!"  
  
Richard chuckled a little to himself and closed the bathroom door, cutting off anything else the drunken Corax might have had to say. When he finished his business and walked back out into the living room, the first floor had gone silent, leaving the Fianna to try and figure out where his pint sized companion gone.  
  
"Ian?" Richard called out, looking around. There was no answer from the first floor. Slowly the Fianna started to the second floor, not knowing if the Corax was rifling the Glasswalker's files for any interesting information or going through Alfredo's collection of suits looking for one that would fit him.  
  
As he reached the top of the stairs, Richard noticed a patch of bright yellow and orange from Alfredo's den; Ian's Canucks jersey, while mostly black, could sometimes stand out with its bright lettering. He walked in slowly, to see the Corax standing in front of the large picture window that looked out over the beach with a pair of binoculars. As the Fianna walked up behind him, he could easily see what Ian was watching over the top of his companion's head. He waited for only a moment, then grabbed the binoculars out of Ian's hand. Ian turned around in surprise and irritation.  
  
"Give me those!" he exclaimed, snatching at the binoculars. Richard pulled them back out of his grasp.  
  
"Now what did I just say downstairs?" Richard asked, glancing out the window again. Eamon and Angela were sitting side by side on the beach, watching the tide.   
  
"Oh, come on, it'll be something else to laugh at him about!" Ian protested, trying unsuccessfully to take the binoculars back. "You even said that downstairs yourself!"  
  
"No," Richard stated emphatically. "Besides, what are you doing up here? Usually you just fly over."  
  
"Well, two things," Ian said, turning back to the window and trying to watch the pair without the use of the binoculars. "First, Eamon's starting to get really paranoid about big black birds anywhere near him, and second, I was trying to read their lips."  
  
"Read their lips?" Richard asked, skeptical.  
  
"Well, that plan's shot now," Ian grumbled, paying little to no attention to the Fianna. "They're too busy sucking face right now."  
  
"So tactfully put," Richard said, walking back out of the den. "Now sober up and leave them alone or I'll throw you through that window."  
  
"He never lets me have any fun," Ian muttered, following Richard out after a moment.  
  
"So did that convince you to come back here after you get done with whatever you're doing on that boat?" Angela asked, pulling away slightly from Eamon. From the look on the Irishman's face, a kiss had been about the last thing he was expecting.  
  
"Well, ya know, I think I might be able ta make it back to New York," Eamon said, quickly regaining his composure. While he had pretty much known that coming out to the beach was for anything but a friendly chat, he was a bit surprised at how quick and to the point Angela was being. He put his arm around Angela and pulled her a little closer, then turned back to the rising full moon coming up over the eastern waters of Raritan Bay. Usually, a night with such a bright full moon would drive any Garou insane with rage, but tonight rage was about the last thing Eamon was feeling. "I mean, how could I refuse with such a pretty woman waiting for me back here? And such a good kisser, too."  
  
"Well, I try," Angela said, watching the moon with him. "It helps to have someone who knows what he's doing, too."  
  
"Well, you know, we Irish are the best at it," Eamon said with a touch of pride. "Of course, there's some other things we do just as well."  
  
"Like drink," Angela put in with a grin, before Eamon could say anything else. Eamon laughed a little.  
  
"Yeah, but that's not what I was thinking," the Irishman said with a bit of a grin. Angela started to smile, but then looked past him and down the beach. Eamon turned a second later as her smile faded quickly.  
  
Three men were making their way down the beach, dressed in long overcoats despite the heat. As they saw him turn in their direction, they quickened their pace the slightest bit. They were within twenty feet of the pair when Eamon got to his feet.  
  
"Who are they?" Angela asked, holding onto the Irishman's arm.  
  
"Go to the house," Eamon said simply. Angela hesitated a moment. "Now."  
  
"Oh, don't stop just because of us," the man in the center of the trio said. "We'll be on our merry way, no problem. We don't want to disturb you."  
  
Angela took a step to the house. One of the men raised a gun and pointed it at her.  
  
"Try walking off the beach and I'll plug you where you stand," the gun wielder said, standing just to Eamon's left. Angela froze in midstep. There was a tense moment as Eamon considered his options and called upon the Gifts his Garou heritage gave him access to.  
  
"Run!" Eamon shouted. Angela took off as the Irishman charged forward, already changing to his crinos form. The gun wielder turned and fired into Eamon's gut, staggering him but not dropping him with two rounds. The gun was loaded with silver bullets, Eamon realized as he felt searing pain through his chest. Trying to put the pain out of his mind, and thankful for the Gift of Luna's Armor, which toughened him against the gunman's attack, the Fianna raked through the shooter's midsection with his claws. He turned on the second even as he felt the shooter's blood burn into his hands; he was fighting fomori, the horribly altered human servants of the Wyrm. The two uninjured fomori were already fanning out quickly around the injured Garou. Both were carrying short swords made of solid silver.  
  
"You may get one of us," the head fomor said, grinning as he pushed back his wide brimmed hat and revealed his tumor riddled face, "but the other is gonna impale you on a silver blade. Try regenerating from that, mutt."  
  
"What the hell was that?" Richard asked, looking up as he heard two loud reports from the direction of the beach. Ian dropped the Playstation controller in his hands and jumped to his feet.  
  
"Gunshots!" the Corax replied, already heading for the door. Richard was after him only a second later, stopping only to grab a large, golden hilted sword in a plain leather scabbard near the door. Ian bolted out onto the front steps and raced head first into Angela. He reminded himself as he caught his balance to admire the view he had just been given later, but at the moment he turned his face up to her quickly.  
  
"I don't know who they are but they're after Eamon!" Angela shrieked. "God, where's Richard?"  
  
"Right here," Richard replied, coming up behind Ian. "What's going on?"  
  
"They're horrible!" Angela exclaimed. "They're awful, leaking puss, they look like they were... God, help him!"  
  
"Fomori," Ian concluded matter of factly. Richard pushed past the two on the steps quickly as he heard Eamon cry out in pain and anger again.  
  
"Angela, stay in the house," the Fianna ordered. "Ian, stay with her. Got it?"  
  
"Well, gee, I don't know," Ian said. "Do you think you can handle two fomori with only Eamon's help?"  
  
"Get inside," Richard said, shoving Ian back through the door. Then he rushed down towards the beach.  
  
"Will they be alright?" Angela asked, turning to Ian. The Corax shrugged.  
  
"Always have been," he said. "Come on. I have to finish beating the shit out of New Jersey."  
  
"Aren't you even worried?" Angela asked, following behind him in shock. Ian shrugged again.  
  
"Not particularly," the Corax replied. "Eamon's a Galliard, which means he does a lot of singing, but he can still kick a bit of ass. Now Richard, he's an Ahroun. What that basically means is he was born to kick ass and chew bubblegum. And right now, he's all outta bubblegum."  
  
Ian smiled in reassurance, then turned to the living room. Angela was just starting to relax as she saw a vaguely man shaped monstrosity that was now standing over the Playstation.  
  
"Miss Amatuzzo, Mister Venizio was very upset about not finding you at your office two nights ago," the thing said, its body covered with tumors leaking a foul smelling puss onto its skin. Ian backed up a step as Angela let out a soundless scream.  
  
Richard hit the beach running, his form already enlarging and growing into the wolflike state of crinos as he reached the two fomori and Eamon. The Irishman had been dropped to one knee as his enemies cut into him with their silver weapons, not allowing him to strike back as they danced out of his reach. They both saw Richard coming a moment too late, and the Fianna literally cut one in half at the waist with his sword as he drew it. The failing light gleamed off the rune lined blade as Richard turned to the last fomor, who backed off towards the water in fear. Slowly the crinos advanced on the attacker as Eamon struggled to his feet, still bleeding from the slashes he had taken across his chest.  
  
"We are going to win," the fomor growled, his fear starting to dissipate. "You can't stop us. Angela is dead now, and so is your undersized friend."  
  
"You're lying," Richard growled, his words barely comprehensible because of his form. The fomor laughed.  
  
"I'm not," he cackled. Then he raised his sword. "Die, Fianna! Go to hell!"  
  
The fomor charged in headlong, bringing the sword around in a vicious arc. Richard parried the blade away with his own sword, at the same moment reaching out with his free hand and dragging the fomor's windpipe out of his throat. As the fomor collapsed at his feet, dead, he shrank back down to his homid form and wiped off his sword. Then he turned and looked back up to the house as he heard Angela scream in terror.  
  
"Angela!" Eamon shouted. Even back in his homid form, the Irishman was covered with slashes and cuts, but still he sprinted back up to the house as fast as his badly injured body would allow.  
  
Ian slammed the door to his bedroom shut, and turned back to the bag by his bed as the door started to splinter almost instantly beneath the weight of the fomor outside. Angela was still screaming as the Corax came up with what he was looking for; a short bladed sword with a cross guard of black metal stylized into unfurled wings. He jumped in front of Angela again as the door splintered open, his body twisting and warping into a somewhat comical cross between raven and man. As the fomor saw him, he stopped and laughed.  
  
"A Corax," he snarled, cracking his overly large knuckles as he started to move forward. "Ooh, and a sword, too. I'm terribly frightened now."  
  
Ian lunged forward with the sword, but the fomor moved back just as quickly. The blade's point stopped an inch from the fomor's chest.  
  
"Not enough blade?" the fomor asked with a smile. Ian shrugged, an odd looking gesture by the Corax in his crinos form.  
  
The blade shot forward another foot.  
  
The fomor looked down at the sword, which had pierced his chest, gone through his heart, and almost exited out the back. For a moment he simply stared at the Corax in front of him, then started to slump to the floor. Ian ripped the sword, a full foot and more longer than it had originally been, out of the monster's chest and wiped it off on his dead opponent, then shrank back into his homid form.  
  
"The thing I love about fomori is that they always underestimate anything smaller than they are," the Corax said. His sword shrank back to its original length, and he sheathed it in the scabbard he had thrown on the bed. Angela was still staring at him in shock. "You alright?" Ian asked curiously.  
  
"Angela?" Eamon called out, stumbling into the room. Ian looked up from his sword to see the badly wounded Irishman. Richard was only a step behind.  
  
"I never touched her, I swear!" Ian exclaimed, putting his hands up in a gesture of innocence. Angela rushed past the Corax to Eamon, nearly catching him as the Irishman's wounds caught up with him. Richard looked at the dead fomor, then back to Ian.  
  
"Did you finally learn to use that sword?" the Fianna asked with a smirk.  
  
"No way!" Ian protested. "I'm a lover, not a fighter!"  
  
"What the hell happened to my house?" Alfredo suddenly exclaimed from downstairs. Ian looked up at Richard.  
  
"I don't think he's ever gonna let us stay here again," the Corax said with a grin.  
  
VI  
  
Richard stood on the deck of the Regina Maersk, watching the receding figures on the docks at Port Newark with a touch of regret. It would be the last time he saw dry land for some time, the Fianna thought as he turned his gaze to the tug boats starting to drag the huge freighter out to open water. For the next three and a half weeks, he would be stranded on the ship with only a hundred or so men to keep him company. Long work days were all that could be expected, twelve hours shifts from what he had been told by Baerga before the longshoreman had loaded them onto the Regina Maersk and said his final farewell to the sailors that he knew. Richard and Eamon, along with about thirty other men, were assigned to the general maintenance of the ship; assisting the ship's electrician and engineer, cleaning decks, cleaning the cargo holds, making certain cargo was still in place, cleaning the decks, cleaning the cargo holds, and cleaning the decks and cargo holds. Silently, the Fianna wondered to himself how the decks and cargo holds could need as much cleaning over a three and a half week trip as it seemed the captain was demanding. He glanced over to Eamon, watching as the Irishman leaned over the railing and spit into the water more than forty feet below. After a moment, Eamon looked up, and walked over to Richard.  
  
"I truly hate you," the Irishman said. Then he started back toward the center of the ship, where duties were being handed out to the gathered crew.  
  
The foreman was a huge Italian man, barrel chested and immensely powerful looking. His arms seemed to be almost as large as Eamon's thighs, and the Irishman wasn't exactly small himself. He looked up as Eamon and Richard approached, appraising him with dark eyes set in a round face that was heavily scarred with pock marks.  
  
"You must be the two Irish boys," he said, extending one huge hand. Eamon and Richard each took it hesitantly in turn. "Name's Giuseppe. I'm assigning you both to Dominick here. Dominick's ship's electrician. He might need some strong backs in the near future."  
  
Richard and Eamon looked to the man Giuseppe had gestured to. Dominick was a small, weasely looking man with coarse black hair and dark, beady eyes who seemed to have a habit of chewing on his upper lip. The electrician smiled with measured disinterest, then went back to scribbling something on a note pad he carried.  
  
"We don't know all that much about electrical wiring," Richard said. Giuseppe shrugged.  
  
"You can learn as you work," the foreman said with a smile. "Now into the hold. Far as I know, a lot of circuits have to be checked."  
  
Richard and Eamon glanced uneasily at each other for a moment, then turned to Dominick as the diminutive electrician made his way towards the stern of the ship. The two Fianna followed along at a slight distance, Richard watching the upper masts of the ship as he walked.  
  
"Think the bird's here?" Eamon asked as quietly as he could.  
  
"Beats me," Richard replied. "Have you seen the captain yet?"  
  
"Donna even know his name," Eamon replied. "Maybe he doesna want to be seen."  
  
Richard nodded silently as they started down into the hold of the ship, wondering if the captain even knew what danger his ship was in.  
  
The cargo hold remained silent except for the sounds of the occasional nudges of the tug boats on the hull of the Regina Maersk. The crates piled into the massive hold created a mazelike series of passages and dead ends, stretching on for over half a mile from bow to stern. None of the sailors had filtered down into the hold yet, but someone moved silently through the maze, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the open spaces that could be seen from the gangways that ran above the hold.  
  
"Some day, I'm going to make Richard regret this," Ian grumbled as he crept through the maze in search of a decent hiding place. It would be at least a couple of days before he could even consider making himself known to the sailors, or he would end up back on the docks of Port Newark. Part of him was seriously considering getting caught just to get thrown off, but in the time that he had started traveling with Richard and Eamon, he had developed a sickening sense of duty and a loyalty to the two Fianna that made him do stupid things like board ships that he knew were going to sink at least a hundred miles from any kind of dry land. Ian continued to make his way through the hold, until he found a slight opening between two of the packing containers, just barely big enough for him to fit through. The Corax squeezed into the opening, and found himself in a small opening formed by the walls of the containers around him. It wasn't big at all, maybe seven feet on a side, but for Ian it was a perfect hideout from the sailors that would be walking through the hold during the trip. There was only one problem with the space, Ian thought as he appraised the floor. Someone else was already using it.  
  
The other occupant looked like it had, at one time, been Mister Orsolino, the foreman that he had seen on the docks only a few nights ago. Most of the man's ribs had been caved in, and it was obvious from the bright red mark around his neck that he had been strangled as well. After a long moment of simply staring at the body, Ian slowly stood up and walked over to it. It was maybe a day or two old; it hadn't even started to smell yet. Well, Ian amended as he got a bit closer, it didn't smell much yet. Slowly the Corax knelt next to the body, and placed one hand on its shoulder.  
  
"Listen, mister, I need to ask this of you," Ian said quietly, speaking to the corpse. "I need to see what it was you saw. I need to know what killed you. Raven asked that we be witnesses in the beginning. I ask your permission now. I need your eye."  
  
Ian waited a long moment, as if expecting an answer. A slightly odd feeling came over him, centered in his gut. He had felt it before; it was the closest thing to "yes" that the corpse would ever communicate. With one last glance around, Ian shifted and shrank down to the size of a fairly large raven, and hopped up onto the body's chest. Then he sank his beak into its left eye.  
  
He found himself standing on the deck of the Regina Maersk. The sun had just gone down; longshoremen were leaving for the day. Venizio and the man in the raincoat were standing in front of him. He was going off about something, extremely excited, almost furious. For almost a minute he ranted and raved at the pair of men and gestured into the cargo hold. Inside the hold was an open container, the bundles inside it showing the radiation warning symbol painted in bright orange.  
  
Nicco calmed him down, looking into his eyes and seemingly hypnotizing him. A second later whiplike tentacles were shooting out of the raincoat that Venizio's partner wore, wrapping around his throat and rapidly cutting off the oxygen to his brain. He could feel his lungs burning as he gasped for breath desperately, then his vision started to fade out. The dull yellow eyes of the man in the raincoat and his hideous, pock marked, grinning face were the last things Orsolino had seen before death finally claimed him.  
  
Slowly the vision faded away, leaving Ian alone again in the cargo hold. He glanced around nervously, the effects of watching a man die from his own eyes still playing through his mind. Finally, he shifted back to his human form and stood up slowly from the body.   
  
"No, don't worry, I'll find another place to hide," Ian finally said with a bit of a grin, making his way back to the tiny opening he had entered through in the first place. He glanced around to make sure that none of the sailors had come down into the hold yet, but the passages remained silent and still. Finally, Ian squeezed out through the opening and hurried through the rows of crates, finally finding himself a decent hiding place near the bow of the ship.  
  
Three days into the voyage, Richard was already sick of the Regina Maersk and everything about her. He was sick of twelve hour work days, he was sick of checking the hull for leaks, he was sick of mopping the decks, and he was certainly sick of Dominick Mazza's careless practices as ship's electrician. He had almost been fried once while checking circuits to the rudder control, and Eamon had nearly been thrown off the ship when one of the cranes on the deck activated "on accident", as Dominick had said. The electrician was always in a hurry to put power through lines, whether or not his fellow crew members were still working on the wires. In fact, if Richard hadn't known any better, he would have thought that Dominick was trying to kill them. And if Dominick was not, then Suyama was.  
  
Richard looked over dinner again, and suppressed a shudder as he tried to figure out which pan was filled with the roast beef and which held the mashed potatoes that the menu had advertised for tonight's meal. For three days, he had been subjected to the sumo sized Japanese cook's attempts at the culinary arts, and the end result was a vague feeling of nausea at the end of every meal. Both he and Eamon seemed to be the only ones affected in such a way by Suyama's cooking, although he could contribute that to the fact that most of the other men on board looked as though they had been sailors for far longer than a few days. If this was what shipboard food was like, the Fianna almost wanted to help Maersk sink this and every other ship in the world. Eamon groaned audibly behind him as the Irishman caught sight of the evening's fare, eliciting a slight chuckle from a distinctly Russian man standing behind him.  
  
"I canna see what you find amusing about this," Eamon said, turning back to the Russian. He looked to be around fifty, with an extremely weatherbeaten face showing where his thick, brown and gray streaked beard didn't cover his cheeks. The man was still well built despite his age, and looked to be more than accustomed to sailing.  
  
"You will get used to food in time," he said in a thick Russian accent. "After fifteen years with Soviet Navy, food here is wonderful."  
  
"Do not start in with stories of Soviet Navy again," another Russian said, standing behind the first speaker. He was somewhat younger at about thirty-five, with a dark brown mustache. While the older Russian's brown and gray hair was growing fairly wild, this one kept his hair close cropped. "We have heard more than enough of Soviet Navy from you."  
  
"Pah, Nicholai is always stick in the mud," the older Russian said. He extended his hand to Eamon. "My name is Pavel."  
  
"Eamon," the Irishman said, shaking the Russian's hand. "And this is Richard."  
  
Richard turned and nodded a hello to the old Russian, then turned to Suyama as the huge cook looked him over.  
  
"I'll take some of... is that roast beef?" the Fianna inquired, pointing to one pan. Suyama's perpetually irritated look remained in place as he rudely plopped a large spoonful onto Richard's tray. Then he took some of what was most likely the mashed potatoes and dropped them onto the tray with a dull thud. Richard looked at the mess that Suyama was passing off as dinner, then turned a bright smile on the cook. "Thanks," he said, then started to look for an empty table. After a moment, Eamon joined him, and the pair sat down as another group of sailors finished dinner and got up. Within another minute, the two Russians had joined them at the table.  
  
"You do not mind?" Pavel inquired, gesturing to the empty bench. Richard nodded as he took his first mouthful of roast beef, and cringed a little at the taste. Pavel and Nicholai sat down, and started into their own meals with considerably more enthusiasm than the two Irishmen. After a moment, Pavel stopped, and wiped a few stray crumbs from his beard.   
  
"This is your first voyage on ship, yes?" he inquired. Richard nodded again. "Ah, it shows. Once you have been on voyage, you will not find meals so bad."  
  
"I'll certainly never see them as gourmet cuisine," Eamon muttered, looking as though he was trying to decide if he should eat any more of his food. "How do ye survive on this?"  
  
"It does not taste good, but is filling," Nicholai said between mouthfuls of roast beef. "So why are you on ship?"  
  
"Just to travel a little," Richard replied. "What about you?"  
  
"This is my life," Pavel replied. "I have been sailor for more than twenty years. I love ocean as much as you love land."  
  
"I think ye've been at sea too long," Eamon said. "I canna wait until we reach France."  
  
Nicholai started to laugh.  
  
"Wait until we are at sea for more than three days," he said with a final chuckle. "Then see how you like sailing."  
  
"So, who is the captain on this ship, anyway?" Richard asked. "I haven't seen any of the officers at all."  
  
Pavel's mood darkened immediately.  
  
"I do not like this," the older Russian said. "Usually, captain will introduce himself to crew. No one knows captain of this ship. No one has seen captain, either."  
  
"What, is he trying to hide from us?" Richard asked. If the captain was a fomori, he would have a reason to want to hide; most of them could not easily hide their hideous disfigurements. Nicholai shrugged.  
  
"I do not know," the younger Russian said. "Is still odd, however."  
  
"Maybe he thinks he is above us, yes?" Pavel suggested. "I have seen some captains in Soviet Navy-"  
  
"Do not start with Soviet Navy!" Nicholai cut in. He said something else in Russian, which Pavel simply waved off.  
  
"So I wonder what the captain is hiding," Eamon said, chewing on a particularly tough piece of roast beef. Pavel turned back to him, and smiled.  
  
"Maybe he is planning to hijack ship," the older Russian joked. Eamon smiled in response, not willing to tell his new friend exactly how close to the truth he was.  
  
"Son of a bitch!" Ian snapped, keeping his voice deliberately low. He smacked one open hand against the nearest container, and then looked around to make sure no one had heard him. Either there weren't any explosives on board, or his ritual hadn't worked. The Rite of the Questing Stone was usually enough to find things like batches of explosives set to blow large holes in the sides of ships. Another thought occurred to Ian then; what if Pentex planned to torpedo the boat somehow? What would they be able to do then? The Corax shook his head at that thought; where the hell would they get a sub to do the job? Of course, Ian thought to himself, the old Soviet Navy could probably provide a few black market diesel subs.  
  
"Alright, I've got to stop second guessing," Ian said to himself. "Just scout, don't interpret."  
  
Ian started to walk slowly down the aisles created by the packing containers, starting a systematic search of the ship. This probably meant he wasn't going to be able to sneak into the galley tonight and swipe some of the leftovers that he had been surviving off of for the last few days. Cursing Richard for getting them involved in this mess one more time, the Corax started off through the rows of containers, hoping that he would be lucky enough to come up with the explosives before they could blow a large hole through the hull of the ship.  
  
"What about icebergs?" Eamon asked from his bunk, idly discussing possible fates the Regina Maersk could suffer at sea. So far, sabotage had remained out of the conversation, though Richard and Eamon both knew that they were on the ship to try and stop just that. The grim topic had been taken up by Eamon and continued as a way to pass time by Pavel and Nicholai . "Do ye think we could hit one of those here?"  
  
"Pah, is stupid idea," Nicholai said in his thick Russian accent, dismissing the thought with a wave of his hand. "Ship is too far south to hit iceberg. We are not Titanic, after all."  
  
"We may as well be," Pavel said, his accent only marginally less noticeable. He rolled over on his cot to face Nicholai again. "This ship is larger than any I have seen, and I have sailed fifteen years now with Soviet Navy."  
  
"I have told you many times, do not start in with tales of Soviet Navy," Nicholai said with a bit of disgust. He said something else in Russian, to which Pavel replied in an irritated tone.  
  
"Maybe we will be torpedoed," Nicholai said to Eamon. "What time is it?"  
  
"Almost two," Richard said, rolling over on his bunk. He heard one of the Italian sailors grumble something that sounded a bit like "shut up". "Don't you three want to go to sleep?"  
  
"Maybe," Nicholai said. "Do not tell me my old bones fare better than yours?"  
  
"Never mind," the Fianna said, burying his face in his pillow. Someone tapped him on the back. Richard rolled onto his back and stared up at Giuseppe.  
  
"Fire watch, Irishman," the foreman said with a smirk.  
  
"I don't see any," Richard replied. After a day of mopping, the last thing the Fianna wanted to do was wander the ship looking for fires that weren't going to happen.  
  
"Come on, get up," Giuseppe said. Richard got to his feet, muttering some choice curses as he stopped to tie his boots on. Then he slowly started out to make his rounds of the massive cargo holds. As he started out of the bunk room, he met up with his fellow victim, a young, burly Italian man named Carlo, if he remembered correctly.  
  
"I can't wait to get this started," Carlo grumbled as he picked up one of the flashlights from the table next to the door. "Well, come on, Richie, let's get this shit over with."  
  
"I'll take the port side, I guess," Richard said, deciding that the port side was the closer side to get to. If he was lucky, he could breeze through this and get some sleep before the sun came up. It was doubtful, but a guy could dream, right?  
  
"Fucker," Carlo muttered as he started for the starboard side of the ship. Richard found his way to the gangways that ran above the cargo holds, and looked down over the sea of Maersk shipping containers that lined the floor of the hold. Even now, three days and one hell of a mop job into the voyage, the Fianna still found it hard to believe how big the ship was. Once he had been awed by the size. Now it just gave him a fairly disgusted feeling in his stomach. He had about a mile and a half to walk before he could go back to his bunk and collapse for a few hours.  
  
"Hey Carlo," Richard called out after he had covered an entire fifty feet on the gangway.  
  
"What?" Carlo called back in a somewhat irritated tone.  
  
"You see any fires yet?" Richard inquired.  
  
"No."  
  
"Alright, fire watch is over," Richard said. There was a slight chuckle from the other side of the ship.  
  
"Giuseppe'll kill us, Richie," Carlo called out. "Come on, it's only a couple of miles."  
  
"That's what I was afraid you'd say," Richard grumbled, continuing along the gangways. As he did so, he checked once more for any signs of explosives or anything else that could sink the ship, but in the dark it was difficult to even tell where all of the twenty-by-ten containers were. Richard stopped for a long moment on the gangway, trying to decide where he would put explosives if he wanted to sink the Regina Maersk. For three days, he had searched the huge ship as much as he could, but there was no sign of anything that could be used to blow a hole in the hull large enough to cause a problem. Silently he wondered if Ian was having any better luck searching the ship. Resigning himself to not finding anything tonight, the Fianna continued to walk the gangways, staring off into the darkness looking for a fire that wasn't going to happen.  
  
An hour later, the fire watch had covered the gangways, and all they had to do was make a sweep through the cargo hold itself. Richard swung the flashlight wearily around the hold, almost thinking he was becoming hypnotized by the redundance of the scenery. He was practically asleep on his feet when he heard Carlo cry out in surprise.  
  
"Get back here, you little runt!" the Italian shouted. "Richie, we got us a freeloader! He's comin' your way!"  
  
Only a second after Carlo called out his warning, Richard heard a loud slam off to his left. He barely had time to react when an extremely short boy in a plain black shirt and soot smeared face dashed around the corner a second later, practically running right into the Fianna. He turned and started to sprint off in the opposite direction, but Richard took off after him, tackling the boy before he could cover more than a few yards.  
  
"OW!" Ian screamed as he met the metal floor of the hold face first. Desperately he tried to escape, but Richard had him securely pinned. "Let go of me, you dopey bastard!"  
  
"Got him!" Richard called out. He could hear Carlo pushing and cursing his way through a narrow passage between the containers.  
  
"You're supposed to be on my side!" Ian hissed at Richard as the Fianna grabbed him by the shirt. "God, you're one of the dumbest people I know!"  
  
"It's not my fault that you're slow," Richard said quietly, hauling the Corax to his feet. Carlo finally got out from between two containers.  
  
"Good, you got him," The Italian said. Before Richard could say anything about the bloody nose and bruise on Carlo's forehead, the sailor landed a vicious punch in Ian's midsection. The boy doubled over with a gasp, falling to the ground and holding his chest. Carlo moved to kick the boy on the ground, but Richard shoved the Italian back.  
  
"Okay, you got him back!" the Fianna pointed out sternly.  
  
"Fuckin' stowaway," Carlo grumbled, gingerly touching his nose. "Fuck you, boy. If I see you on this ship while this guy ain't around, I'm gonna kick your scrawny little ass."  
  
"Uh huh," Ian managed through his wheezing. Even doubled up and barely able to breathe, the Corax still sounded sarcastic. Carlo made a move to kick him again, but once again Richard pushed him back.  
  
"What the hell is going on down here?" Giuseppe suddenly shouted, running through the cargo hold with a flashlight. Behind him were Eamon, Pavel, and two other sailors. Carlo pointed to Ian.  
  
"Found us a stowaway," Carlo said. "I say we throw him to the sharks."  
  
"There aren't many sharks around here," Giuseppe said. He looked Ian over for a long moment as the boy finally got back to his feet, still holding his chest where Carlo had punched him. "Well hello there, son. Take a wrong turn somewhere?"  
  
"No, I'm kind of where I wanted to be," Ian replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Minus the getting caught part, though."  
  
"Then you know you're heading to France right now," Giuseppe said evenly. Ian shrugged.  
  
"Hey, it's Europe," he said. "France, England, Germany, whatever, dude. Just get me there."  
  
"Everyone who sails with us, works with us," Giuseppe said. "How are you at mopping floors?"  
  
"Um, I have a bad back," Ian said, shrugging. "It would be bad for my health."  
  
"So is getting tossed into the North Atlantic without so much as a life preserver," Giuseppe pointed out. Ian stared blankly at him for a moment, then gave a thoroughly false smile  
  
"Mopping floors it is," the Corax said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Giuseppe grinned.  
  
"Carlo, give this boy a bunk," the foreman said with notable good cheer.  
  
"I'll bunk him," Carlo grumbled. "Right across the face."  
  
"Maybe I should show him to a bunk," Richard said, stepping between Carlo and Ian. "After all, I don't have an irresistible urge to kill him. Yet."  
  
Okay, Richard, you give him a bunk," Giuseppe said. "Fire watch is over, let's all get some sleep."  
  
"Thank you," Richard said. He grabbed Ian by the shirt and started to forcefully lead him to the rear of the ship. Ian tried to pull away a few times, then gave up as they got out of sight of the others.  
  
"Well, I could go for a full meal, anyway," the Corax said, walking alongside Richard.  
  
"So, have you been doing anything other than getting yourself in trouble?" Richard asked quietly.  
  
"Try a search of the entire ship," Ian replied indignantly. "I swear, if I wasn't looking for some way to blow up this ship, I would've seen that Dago dickhead coming a mile away."  
  
"I know," Richard said with a bit of a grin. "Did you find anything?"  
  
"I ran into the dock foreman," Ian replied. "It seems that Mister Venizio didn't like the fact that he was upset about loading radioactive materials. What's left of him is rotting in the hold."  
  
"How'd he die?" Richard asked, glancing around.  
  
"Mister Raincoat Man did it," Ian replied. "Man, I'm starving. Where's the galley?"  
  
"No food for you," Richard stated. "Who's Mister Raincoat Man?"  
  
"Venizio's pet," Ian replied. "Fomori by the looks of it, but a really tough one."  
  
"You find anything else on the boat?" Richard asked. Ian shrugged.  
  
"The bilge smells like absolute shit, and all the containers look the same," the Corax replied. "The Rite of the Questing Stone didn't work, so I had to search the old fashioned way. If you hadn't grabbed me, I could've spent more time looking for bombs or something."  
  
"You complain too much," Richard said as they reached the bunk room. The Fianna pointed to a small cot in one corner of the room. "That's yours, kid. You might want to get to sleep, because I'm sure Giuseppe'll have plenty of things for you to do in the morning."  
  
"Gee, you're a swell guy," Ian muttered. The boy dropped onto the cot, and promptly fell asleep. Eamon and Pavel returned to the bunk room then, and looked over the sleeping Corax.  
  
"Must have been rough trip for boy so far," Pavel observed with a bit of a grin.  
  
"Yeah, I'm certain it was," Richard said, keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. Then he rolled over on his cot to get some sleep himself.  
  
VII  
  
It had been eight days since Eamon had seen anything that could be considered dry land. The Irishman stopped mopping the deck for a moment, and looked out over the endless blue-black expanses of the Atlantic Ocean as he recalled the feeling of solid, sturdy ground beneath his feet instead of the rolling deck of the Regina Maersk. The freighter was now in the middle of the Atlantic, one day out of a storm that had rocked the juggernaut for the entirety of the weekend(at least, Eamon thought it had been the weekend) before it moved on for the American coast. With progress slowed by the late season storm, another day had been added on to the ship's travel time, something Eamon and Richard both weren't looking forward to. No dry land, no good food, no booze except for the strong, cheap rum the Italian sailors drank and the small, rapidly dwindling supply of Johnny Walker that Eamon had smuggled on board, and, most of all, no women. Eamon had not realized the vital role women had played in his life, even just as background, until he had spent this much time staring at nothing but Russian and Italian men. Even his trip from Ireland had not been this bad.  
  
Eamon glanced over to Ian, and smiled a little despite himself. Half the Irishman's size, a fraction of his strength, and completely unaccustomed to back breaking work over twelve hour days, the Corax was having an even harder time of it than the two Fianna were. Ian's hands had been blistered and sore by the end of the first day, and Giuseppe had pushed the boy even harder when he had complained about it. A part of him did feel sorry for the boy, Eamon decided as he dunked his mop into the bucket he had wheeled across almost an acre of deck. A very small part of him, but a part of him nonetheless.  
  
"I'm gonna kill him," Ian grumbled as he walked back to the bucket and dipped his own mop in the water. "He is so dead if I ever get the chance. I hate him."  
  
"Serves ya right," Eamon said. "It's about time ya did somethin' other than chase girls around."  
  
"Shut up," Ian said, looking up at his far taller companion. Eamon simply chuckled. "I mean it!"  
  
"Mop the deck," Eamon said, walking back to where he was finishing up on the front quarter of the deck. He looked back over what he had done, and sighed in resignation. By the time he finished, he'd probably have to go back and start over. Of course, that would probably be preferable to working with Mazza again, who had, for the second time in three days, nearly fried Richard. Like his fellow Fianna, Eamon was starting to wonder exactly how many of these near death experiences were accidents. As he finished up the last of the deck, Giuseppe appeared from the hold, and looked over the deck with a bit of a smile.  
  
"Excellent job," the foreman said. "The deck looks pretty good, except for that one part over there."  
  
"That's the lad's part," Eamon said, glancing over at Ian. The Corax started to scratch at his temple with his middle finger in a fairly tactless display of appreciation. Giuseppe noticed the gesture, and chuckled a little.  
  
"I see you two have become friends," the foreman said. Ian rolled his eyes and continued to mop.  
  
"He complains too much," Eamon said. "Poor boy's never done a day o' hard work in his life, I bet. I think it's good for him."  
  
Eamon smiled as he got the desired angry glare from Ian. Giuseppe patted Eamon on the shoulder with a lopsided grin.  
  
"Well, why don't you get back down below and help out Dom and Richard," Giuseppe said. Then he turned to Ian. "As for you, kid, we've got a special job waiting for just for your talents."  
  
"Oh, great," Ian said dubiously. Eamon smiled as he placed the mop in the bucket and started down into the hold. Ian watched as Giuseppe picked up the mop, then turned back to his work. Within minutes, both he and the foreman had finished the last of the deck.  
  
"Uh, thanks," Ian said, starting to wheel the mop bucket back towards the drain on deck. Giuseppe stopped him.  
  
"Just toss it over the deck," the foreman said. Ian hesitated for a long moment.  
  
"Shouldn't we empty it into the bilge?" the boy asked. "I mean, there's bleach in this, and-"  
  
"Not enough to hurt anything," Giuseppe replied. "Besides, don't you think we empty the bilge every once in a while? Where do you think that water goes?"  
  
"Oh," Ian said. Much as he hated to do it, the Corax lifted the bucket with a fair amount of effort and threw it into the water below. Then he turned back to Giuseppe.  
  
"Come on, kid," the foreman said. "We've got a problem below. One I think someone of your size can help with."  
  
Ian followed Giuseppe down into the hold, heading through the narrow corridors that housed all sorts of electronic cables, hydraulic lines, and other less identifiable pipes and wires. As they progressed through the ship, the lights became less frequent and dimmer until it was obvious that they were somewhere in the hold. Ian glanced around him more and more, starting to have an uneasy feeling about the situation he was being put in. The foreman stopped somewhere amidships, and pointed to a small opening just large enough for a person that was five foot one and rail thin to fit through.  
  
"Something's wrong back there, but we can't tell what it is," Giuseppe explained as he poked a flashlight into the hole. The small opening looked like a tunnel carved through the hull of the ship, interspersed with cables and pipes. "I think one of the electric lines to the bow section of the ship is shot. I want you to tell me if you see anything back there. Hopefully you'll find it, because I can't think of any other place where the line shorted out that we can actually get at."  
  
"Uh, I'm really not much of an electrician," Ian said. "I think Domin-"  
  
"Mazza's busy," Giuseppe cut in. "Don't worry about it, kid. All I want you to do is check the wires and tell me if any look frayed or if the insulation is stripped off."  
  
Ian looked at Giuseppe for a long moment, then reluctantly crawled into the crawlspace. As he made his way through the tiny tunnel, he constantly glanced back over his shoulder, but couldn't see much behind him between the darkness and the cramped space. Finally, the Corax came out into a tiny opening shrouded in the network of cables and pipes. Quickly he searched through the wires snaking along just over his head, and found what Giuseppe had asked him to; several wires looked to be extremely worn, and one was broken through. The insulation around the wire looked like it had been blackened by a short or a fire. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ian turned himself around in the crawlspace.  
  
"I found it!" he called out through to the foreman.  
  
"It's shorted?" Giuseppe shouted back.  
  
"Yeah!" Ian replied. "A couple of others look like they need to be replaced, too!"  
  
"Alright, get back out here, and we'll give you what you need to splice the wires back together!" Giuseppe shouted. Ian's smile disappeared as instantly as it had come.  
  
"I'm not a fucking electrician," the Corax grumbled, pushing himself back to the front of the crawlspace. "What the hell does this guy think I am, a professional jack of all trades? Christ, I knew I shouldn't have come on this trip."  
  
Ian pushed himself to the front of the crawlspace as he finished grumbling, and took a quick glance around. Giuseppe had vanished. Before he could even call the foreman's name, something wrapped around his neck and started to squeeze.  
  
"Yes, you shouldn't have," a guttural voice growled next to his ear. "Who are you, boy? Let me know when you want to answer, and I'll release some of the pressure on your windpipe."  
  
Ian tried to make any sound at all, but he couldn't even draw a breath to shout. He tried to pry the cord loose, but found out quickly that the cord was, in fact, a leathery... tentacle. The Corax became even more frantic, trying to pull back into the crawlspace, but to no avail. He was on the verge of blacking out when the pressure on his throat let up just enough for him to gulp in a lungful of air.  
  
"Just about ten days ago now, a young woman named Angela Amatuzzo was taken out of her offices at Maersk by two Shadow Lords and three other agents," the hidden assailant told the Corax. "The trails of those three agents lead to this ship. I don't suppose you'd know where to find them, would you?"  
  
"Dunno," Ian wheezed. The assailant once again started to strangle him, dragging him out of the crawlspace as Ian tried to grab onto anything to keep him away from the unseen attacker. Cords and wires ripped out as the Corax was dragged into the corridor, forcing the boy to give up on his struggles as he felt his neck start to bend the wrong way under the tentacle's powerful grip. Just as he was about out of air, the attacker lowered Ian close enough to the floor for the Corax to stand on his toes and relieve a little bit of the pressure around his throat.  
  
"I want to know how many more people know about this boat, and what your plans are, whelp!" the attacker growled into Ian's ear. He could feel the man's hot, stinking breath on his neck now as he tried to slip a finger underneath the tentacle around his throat. When he didn't reply, he was yanked off the floor once again, dangling a foot over the gangway and rapidly running out of air. Before he faded into unconsciousness, he heard someone shout something from further down the passageway.  
  
"Here now, what are ya doin' with that boy?" Eamon demanded, coming upon the pair in the corridor. Ian was being held almost a foot off the ground by a huge man dressed in a rain coat, tentacles writhing around his barrel chest. The Irishman started forward quickly, his form already starting to enlarge and sprout fur. The fomori, for that was what Ian's attacker had to be, threw the Corax into the side of the passageway and started to draw a weapon from his belt, but Eamon reached him first in his crinos form, tearing across the fomor's chest. Even as he hit, the Wyrm tainted human transformed into a column of thick black oil that fell through the grill of the gangplank and landed in the hold below with a dull splash. Eamon turned back to his companion and resumed his human form as Ian struggled to his hands and knees, still choking and gasping for air. Eamon helped him to his feet and looked him over, noticing immediately the bright red line around the Corax's neck.  
  
"Raincoat man," Ian gasped, his voice hoarse. "Where'd he..."  
  
Ian was cut off by a fit of coughing and choking as he still tried to recover from the attack.  
  
"Easy now, Ian, he disappeared," Eamon replied, glancing below. Through the grating of the gangway, he couldn't see anything below. "Come on, let's get out of here before he comes back with friends o' his."  
  
Eamon helped Ian down a narrow flight of stairs to the main hold, then stopped and looked around. Ian's attacker was nowhere to be seen now; even the last drops of the oily substance he had turned into were gone. Ian finally stopped gasping for air, but the bright red mark around his neck remained.  
  
"You okay now?" Eamon asked. Ian nodded, rubbing his neck. "Now who is Raincoat Man?"  
  
"Mister Giambi," Ian replied, his voice still hoarse. To Eamon's puzzled look, the Corax elaborated again. "Nicco Venizio's partner on the docks the night I spied on them. I already told Richard that he killed the dock foreman and left his body to rot in the hold. What the hell is he doing here?"  
  
"Nicco shouldna be aboard," Eamon said. "After all, they're goin' ta sink this ship, aren't they?"  
  
"Maybe they have some way of getting off the ship," Ian suggested. "But I haven't seen anything other than lifeboats on board for them to escape in."  
  
"We'd better let Richard know," Eamon decided. "Then we'll worry about who might have come on board with Raincoat Man."  
  
"Yeah," Ian said. Then he looked up at Eamon quizzically. "How'd you know where to find me?"  
  
"I followed ye," the Irishman replied. "Luck o' the Irish, I'd say it was. Now come on, let's go."  
  
"Hey! What the hell is going on down here?" someone shouted from the gangways above. Eamon and Ian both looked up to see Giuseppe storming down the steps that led up to the passageway, several lengths of different colored wires in his hands. "Ian, you should be up there! Eamon, you shouldn't even be in this time zone! Why the hell aren't you with Mazza and your drinking buddy?"  
  
"I thought I heard something down this way," Eamon said, trying to rapidly come up with a good story. "I dinna know what it was, but thought I should check it out."  
  
"And did you-" Giuseppe stopped, and looked Ian over. "What the hell happened to your throat, kid?"  
  
"I, uh, I, got hung up on one of those wires," Ian replied. He laughed, trying to act embarrassed. "Yeah, I almost ended up strangling myself trying to get out of the crawlspace."  
  
"You did a pretty decent job," Giuseppe said, lifting the boy's chin and examining the injury a little more closely. "Christ, kid, if you get caught, don't keep moving. You almost broke the skin in four places!"  
  
"Well, you know, I panicked," Ian said with a shrug. "I didn't hear you anywhere, and finally, Eamon dragged me out. Of course, he almost made things worse, but you know what they say about good intentions."  
  
Eamon glared at the Corax from behind Giuseppe.  
  
"Alright, well, we've got the problem nailed down," the foreman said. "Ian, I want you to get checked out with the ship's doctor. Eamon, go find Dominick and get to work with him and Richard."  
  
"Right," Ian said. The slightest tinge of nervousness was evident in his voice, at least to Eamon. The Irishman glanced over at Giuseppe, but if the foreman had picked up on the boy's anxiety, he wasn't letting it show. Ian started off to go above decks, and Eamon reluctantly started into the recesses of the stern to find Richard and Dominick.  
  
Richard closed his eyes and gingerly touched another pair of wires together, waiting for what seemed like the inevitable jolt he would get from the power lines. Instead, nothing happened, and the Fianna let out a sigh of relief.  
  
"Cold!" he shouted down to Dominick.  
  
"Finally!" the electrician exclaimed, also happy with the result. "We nailed down the dead line! Alright, I'm gonna try something down here, then you test the line again!"  
  
"I was afraid you'd say that," Richard grumbled, leaning back in the comparatively tight spot in the upper recesses of the rudder control. Dominick started to play with the wires at the base of the steerage as Richard made himself somewhat comfortable in his cramped position. Dominick would probably take at least a few minutes with whatever he was doing below, then tell Richard to see if they had any power in the line he was presently holding in his hands. That meant another shocking experience for the Fianna, which was inevitable when working with Mazza. He heard someone open the door to the steerage room somewhere below him, and looked down to see Eamon, finally back from his mopping. As Dominick continued to play with the wires, the Irishman made his way up the narrow ladder to Richard's position.  
  
"Ian just got attacked by Venizio's bodyguard," Eamon said quietly, his eyes on Dominick. "Giuseppe sent him to the infirmary, but I donna like this."  
  
"Neither do I," Richard agreed. He shifted a little where he was sitting, then glanced over to Dominick. "Hey Dom!"  
  
"What?" the electrician asked irritably.  
  
"I'm gonna go take a leak," Richard said, starting to climb out of the rudder control. Dominick waved him off without so much as a glance. Eamon took the Fianna's place as Richard descended from the rudder control and started out of the stern of the ship.  
  
Once he was out of sight of the electrician, Richard hurried his pace to the midpoint of the ship, where the infirmary and the bridge were located. Chances were that the fomor who had attacked Ian would try to finish the job soon, thinking him too much of a threat to keep alive. The same could be said for Eamon, but the Irishman had the advantage of being one of the most combat capable breeds of shapeshifters in the world. Richard reached the infirmary relatively quickly, but one glance inside showed that Ian had not come to the doctor's offices yet. Quickly Richard started to search through the bridge area, hoping that he would come up with the Corax before he was killed. He turned another corner, and saw Carlo leaning on the railing and glaring at nothing in particular on the main deck below. The sailor was idly scratching at a large, reddish boil that was starting to form on his neck, but stopped and straightened up as he noticed Richard heading towards him. Before the Fianna could try to get by him, Carlo stepped into the middle of his path and folded his arms across his chest.  
  
"Where are you going?" Carlo asked in an irritated tone, looking angry with Richard for some reason.  
  
"I was just looking for Ian," the Fianna replied. "There was something Giuseppe wanted me to tell him about rewiring in the hold."  
  
"He's not up here," Carlo said curtly. "Now go back to whatever you were doing."  
  
"If you see him, let him know I'm looking for him," Richard said as amiably as he could. Carlo said nothing, but waved him off and went back to scratching at the boil on his neck. Richard started away quickly, but not before he pulled a small pendant out of his shirt around his neck. As he suspected, the pendant, in the shape of an abstract glyph, was glowing slightly.   
  
There were Banes present.  
  
Richard hazarded a glance back at Carlo, then continued walking. Banes were the spirit servants of the Wyrm, and corrupted humans into the hideous fomori that formed the legions of the Wyrm's army on earth. While the Banes could possibly be found anywhere on the ship, the Fianna was fairly certain that his pendant was reacting to the one that had claimed Carlo's body. Richard slowly doubled back once he was out of sight of Carlo, and tried to find his way up to the bridge without going past Carlo's present guard post.  
  
Ian perched on the rigging outside the bridge, just out of sight of the people standing on the bridge. While not many people took notice of ravens in port, there were few of the large, black birds to be found more than two hundred miles from the nearest coastline. While he couldn't see any of the people on the bridge, he could hear them plainly through the partially open windows of the ship's command center.  
  
"And what of the boy?" someone asked from inside the bridge.  
  
"He got away," Ian heard Giambi reply. The Corax bristled at Raincoat Man's voice, still wanting to get back at him for trying the attack in the hold. "Another of the crew helped him. The Irishman."  
  
"As I suspected," the first voice said. "They are most likely the threats to our security right now. What about the other one, the one that came aboard with the Irishman?"  
  
"I don't know about him, but I don't like him," Giambi answered. "I'll do all three of them, if need be. They can rot with Orsolino in the hold, for all I care."  
  
"No, I'd like to see them obliterated completely," the first man said. "When you kill them, dump their bodies in the bilge with the explosives. Waiting for three days probably kept that little runt from finding the explosives there, and there's enough stale water and rotting shit in that bilge to keep anything out. And I do mean anything."  
  
"I still don't like this," Giambi said. "We should have brought more backup to make sure the ship sinks."  
  
"Don't worry," the first man said. "I've made one or two fomori already from the crew. We'll have all the help we need, and since the two agents on board can't seem to find all the plastique, I don't think we'll have a problem."  
  
"Of course, Captain O'Brien," Giambi said. Ian looked as surprised as a raven could look when he heard the name. O'Brien from Newark? If anyone, the Corax would have suspected Venizio was aboard, since his bodyguard was on the ship. Ian waited for another moment or so, then took off as he found that the conversation had turned to timetables for work and future plans. While he would have liked to listen in all day, he knew he had to warn Eamon and Richard and then get back to work before Giuseppe could come looking for him.  
  
As Ian rapidly took off and descended towards the bow of the ship, a middle aged man with blond hair and a distinctly Irish look to his ruddy cheeks glanced out of the window, and smiled slightly as he watched the black form against the dark blue of the Atlantic.  
  
Ian landed behind a large stack of crates near one of the bow cranes, and shifted back into his homid form before anyone could notice him. With a quick glance around him to make certain no one had seen him, the boy started to run across the deck, hoping to reach his companions before anyone else did.  
  
"Ian!" he heard Giuseppe shout behind him after he had covered only about fifty yards. The Corax skidded to a stop, then turned slowly. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"  
  
"I was just going back down to the hold, to help do that rewiring," Ian replied quickly. Giuseppe looked him over for a second.  
  
"What were you doing at the bow of the ship?" the foreman inquired, glancing over his shoulder at the forward section.  
  
"I thought I saw you up there," Ian replied. "I guess I must have missed you when I headed all the way up to the prow. Where were you?"  
  
"I've been below," Giuseppe replied. "Did the doctor take a look at your neck?"  
  
"Yeah, he said it's cosmetic and it'll heal in a few days," Ian replied. "You wouldn't mind if I let Eamon know, would you? He seemed kind of concerned earlier."  
  
"Not now," Giuseppe replied. "I want to deal with those electrical problems. You'll be working with Mazza for a little bit, but I don't think Eamon will be joining the two of you."  
  
"Oh," Ian said after the slightest hesitation. Giuseppe started down into the hold again, and Ian reluctantly followed him back down into the darkness.  
  
Eamon sighed as he looked over dinner, and found himself wishing more than ever that he had never gotten on this God forsaken ship. Suyama was standing behind the food with his perpetually irritated expression, staring at the Irishman as he decided whether or not to skip dinner tonight.  
  
"So what you want, Irish?" the cook finally demanded. "Or you just stand there all day, hold up line?"  
  
"Just give me whatever you're passing off as London broil tonight," Eamon grumbled, hunger finally winning out over disgust. Luckily, the Fianna had developed a gift that could neutralize poison in their systems, and it was looking like tonight that gift could come in handy. Suyama dropped a couple of rubbery pieces of meat onto the Irishman's plate, then added some rice for good measure and sent him on his way with a few words in Japanese that probably weren't a compliment to the Fianna or his family. Sighing in dismay at the meal, Eamon took his tray and joined Richard, Pavel, and Nicholai at one of the larger tables. Pavel was busy playing a game of Gin Rummy against one of the youngest Italian sailors on the ship, while Nicholai was busily tearing into his food as if he hadn't eaten for days.  
  
"I thought you were going to stand there all night," Richard said with a bit of a grin as Eamon slid onto the bench next to him. "You finally decided on eating?"  
  
"Fer what it's worth," Eamon muttered, picking at the London broil on his plate. He glanced over to Nicholai, who was still shoveling food into his mouth. "I canna believe you actually like this."  
  
"Is good enough for me after twelve hours of work," the Russian said through a mouthful of food. "Do not think of taste. Think of best meal you have ever eaten."  
  
"I donna think that will help," Eamon said. Still, he tried to picture the best steak he had ever eaten, closed his eyes, then put a piece of London broil into his mouth. Immediately, his memories of that wonderful steak he had eaten at a steak house in Columbus were ruined for the rest of his life.  
  
"You son of a bitch!" the young sailor suddenly exclaimed, pounding his fist on the table. Eamon opened his eyes to see Pavel grinning from ear to ear and collecting a few stray dollars from the table.  
  
"Do not be upset," the old Russian said. "In Soviet Navy, I was best card player on my ship."  
  
"Not more tales of Soviet Navy," Nicholai grumbled, dropping his head to the table. "My dinner has been ruined."  
  
"I donna think dinner could get any worse," Eamon said. Richard chuckled a little, then looked up at the door to see Ian walk in. The boy took a tray, walked up to the chow line, and stared at Suyama for a moment. The cook glared at Ian in turn, but then grinned a little and piled a load of rice and beef onto the Corax's plate. Finally, Ian turned, walked over to Richard's table, and sat down only a second after the young Italian sailor had gotten up. Eamon, Richard, and Pavel all stared at the boy's plate for a long moment; he had gotten more than the three of them combined, for what was quite possibly the worst meal of the trip.  
  
"Am I still twitching?" Ian asked as he stabbed a piece of meat and shoved it into his mouth. Eamon looked on in disgust as the boy rapidly chewed up the piece, swallowed, and then started to dive into his food with as much fervor as Nicholai had shown.  
  
"No," Richard finally replied. "Did you actually ask for that much?"  
  
"Yeah," Ian replied, trying to keep all of the rice in his mouth as he spoke. "I'm hungry. Shocked and hungry."  
  
"You have to work with Mazza today?" Pavel asked, a sick look on even his face. Ian nodded, oblivious to the looks of everyone but Nicholai.  
  
"See? Boy has grown accustomed to food here," Nicholai said proudly.  
  
"Even in Soviet Navy, food was better than tonight," Pavel stated, shaking his head. Nicholai said something in Russian, and Pavel put up his hands. "Fine, no more talk of Soviet Navy."  
  
"Thank you," Nicholai said, sounding relieved. Richard glanced over at Ian, who had already finished most of the rubbery steak he had been given. After another second, the Corax stood up, gave a meaningful glance to the Fianna, and started towards the hall leading from the galley to the bunk room."That's it for me," Ian said, giving one last glance around the table. "I think I'm actually not hungry for the first time since I got on this boat. I'm gonna go sleep off my repeated electrical shocks."  
  
Ian started away, dropping his tray off before he disappeared from the galley. After a moment, Richard also stood up, and picked up his tray from the table.  
  
"He's got the right idea," the Fianna said with a bit of a smirk. "Do you know who has fire watch tonight?"  
  
"Not anyone I know personally," Nicholai replied, standing up with his tray. "I wonder if seconds are still being served?"  
  
"Yer a disgusting man, Nicholai," Eamon declared, looking at his own barely touched food. Ordinarily, he would have gone without, but he was far too hungry to pass up a meal now, even one as poor as tonight's meal. "Donna drink all me whiskey, Richard. I'm runnin' out and we still have over a week of travel."  
  
"Sure," Richard said, already halfway from the table to the door. He dropped off his tray and wandered back to the mostly empty bunk room, seeing just two other sailors sound asleep in their bunks. Ian was leaning back on his cot, waiting for the Fianna to come back to the bunk room. As the Fianna walked back to him, Ian started to sit up.  
  
"I know where the explosives are," the Corax said with a slight smile.  
  
"You do? Where?" Richard asked urgently. "And how did you find out?"  
  
"They're in the bilge," Ian replied. "And O'Brien is our captain!"  
  
"Who's O'Brien?" Richard asked, looking puzzled. Ian rolled his eyes.  
  
"Didn't you pay attention?" Ian asked, a bit upset. "O'Brien was the guy Venizio was having the meeting with before we left!"  
  
"Oh, that O'Brien," Richard said, still not having a clue as to whom Ian was referring to. Corax had extremely sharp memories, and Ian often expected Eamon and Richard to remember everything he told them, no matter how insignificant. "Do you know when they plan on blowing the boat up?"  
  
"They didn't say, but it sounds like me and Eamon are going to be prime targets for Mister Raincoat Man," Ian replied.  
  
"We'll have to disarm the bombs within the next night or two," Richard decided. "The sooner the better."  
  
"And another thing," Ian said. "O'Brien mentioned that he turned a couple of sailors into fomori. We might be dealing with more than just one or two enemies."  
  
"One of them is your friend Carlo," Richard informed the Corax. "You might want to make additional efforts to steer clear of him."  
  
"Now you tell me," Ian said. "I was thinking about irritating him a little tonight."  
  
"There're Banes on board, too," Richard added. "My pendant always glows when I go into the hold. You, me, and Eamon will deal with the explosives tonight, then hope that they don't cut us into mincemeat for it. did you find out if they know about any of us?"  
  
"Yeah," Ian replied. "Me and Eamon are made for sure. Giambi threatened to do all three of us if need be. But do we really have to do this tonight? I mean, I'm tired, and-"  
  
"Stop complaining," Richard said. "Sometimes you're worse than my ex-girlfriend."  
  
"The one I slept with?" Ian inquired with a smirk. Richard's eyes narrowed. "Kidding. Really. Don't kill me."  
  
"I'll think about it," Richard said, deciding that the Corax was just kidding. Ian had never really had the time to sleep with his last girlfriend, at any rate, and she had also been one of the few women who had never taken to the boy's charms. "You have your sword with you?"  
  
"Yeah, I brought my sword," Ian grumbled, knowing what that question was going to lead to. "But remember. I'm the one that finds things out. You and Eamon are the ones that run up to it and kill it."  
  
"I know," Richard said. "But you might have to take on a few fomori for us, or at least the one or two that we can't get before they reach you. You're the one that has to get rid of the bomb."  
  
"I'm not liking this," Ian stated. He looked past Richard as Pavel and the young sailor that he had beaten at Rummy earlier walked in. Eamon followed them in a moment later, and two more sailors after that. "So you think one of us will get stuck on fire watch?"  
  
"No, Nicholai said he didn't recognize any of the names," Richard replied. "Get some sleep. You look like you could use it."  
  
Ian nodded, rolled over onto his stomach, and tried to get some sleep. Richard glanced over at Eamon, but the Irishman was already rifling his footlocker for his bottle of Johnny Walker. Richard sighed, sat back on his own bed, and settled in to wait for their opportunity to get to the bomb.  
  
VIII  
  
"Fire in the hold! Fire in the hold!"  
  
Richard did not know when he had fallen asleep, but the cry of alarm was all he needed to get himself up and moving. The two sailors on fire watch were running through the bunk room, shouting at the tops of their lungs and shaking or kicking awake anyone within reach. Richard sat up quickly and started to dress, already cursing himself for having fallen asleep. If the bombs had gone off already, was there really any chance to save the ship? As the Fianna finished dressing, Pavel stopped at his bunk, pushing one hand through his thick, salt and pepper hair as he smiled a little.  
  
"This is why we have fire watch," he said with a smirk, knowing how much Richard hated the idea of fire watch. Richard flipped the Russian off as he jumped to his feet and glanced around, finding Eamon quickly but not seeing any signs of Ian. Before he could start through the chaotic bunk room to find the Corax, Giuseppe burst into the room, his face already sooty.  
  
"Alright, everyone up and moving, into the hold!" the foreman shouted, taking charge of the situation. "Teams of three on the hoses! Richard, Eamon, and Carlo, I want you three making sure that the water keeps flowing! Up on the main deck! Now!"  
  
"Right," Richard said, already moving. He saw Carlo sprint through the door and up the steps. Richard was only a second behind, and within a moment Eamon had gotten to the main deck, as well. Immediately the three started to the pumps, and opened up the valves that would allow water down to the hoses being used in the fight against the fire in the hold, as well as the sprinkler system set in the roof of the hold. Eamon turned one valve open, then turned back to see Carlo ripping a length of pipe free. Water exploded in a fountain around the sailor as he started to grow much bigger, his muscles bulging until they started to rip the skin.  
  
"Time to die, Fianna!" the sailor bellowed, rushing Eamon. The Irishman jumped out of the way, almost getting caught across the face with the metal pipe. Even before Eamon could react to the attack, Carlo turned the pipe towards him and a torrent of seawater rushed out of it, pushing the Irishman back towards the railing of the ship.  
  
Richard turned as he heard Carlo's furious shout, but hadn't expected to see him grow nearly three feet in height and burst out of his skin. The sailor was now completely without his skin or clothing, his blood mixing in with the salt water now spraying out across the main deck. Eamon jumped back from one swipe, but the fomor he was facing must have been wielding magic; the pipe was now discharging a blast of high pressure water at Eamon and pushing him slowly to the railing. Dropping what he was doing, the Fianna started to grow and distort, reaching his full crinos form only a second before he slammed into Carlo from the side.  
  
Eamon jumped back to his feet as the torrent of water suddenly stopped, and looked on in amazement as Richard tore into Carlo with his claws and teeth. The fomor was knocked back for only a moment before he threw Richard across the deck, but by that time Eamon had also grown to his crinos form and joined the battle, delivering a wicked rake to Carlo's side. Carlo spun and lashed out with one fist, but Eamon ducked under it and drove his claws home again, tearing into the monster's side. Carlo growled and jumped back a step, then raised his hands to the air with a quick gesture.  
  
Eamon never even expected the attack, and was caught in a full blast of fire from the hold below as it erupted up through the deck. The Irishman howled in pain and dropped back quickly, falling into the cool spray of water before the flames could burn him to a crisp. Eamon looked up in time to see Carlo advancing rapidly on him, cloaked in fire and steam as he charged across the deck at the Fianna. Eamon jumped up and braced for the attack, but the fomor suddenly stopped and whirled as Richard slammed into it once more, tearing a fiery chunk of flesh from the creature's side. Carlo turned back to fight off the Ahroun, ignoring Eamon for a second, and the Irishman took the opportunity to rip into the fomor's other side with both hands. Crying out in pain, Carlo dropped low and rammed through Eamon, but couldn't shake Richard as the Fianna kept with him and continued to shred the fomor's left side. Eamon ducked and rolled out of the way of Carlo's wild attack, then started to circle back around as the fomor turned once more on Richard.   
  
Each claw strike left Richard more and more wounded, but the Fianna knew he had to finish this fight quickly, before anyone could come up and see what was happening. He had no way of knowing if the fire was being kept under control below, but he had more important problems as Carlo first tried to dislodge Eamon, then Richard from his flanks. Each slash Richard got in caused the fomor to stumble and bellow in pain and rage, but his hands were already suffering from terrible burns as he tried to finish his enemy off. In a final, desperate move, Richard backed off, allowing the fomor to return its attention to Eamon for a second, then charged forward, changing to the giant, prehistoric wolf form of hispo as he rushed forward. Carlo turned back to him just as Richard sprang, hitting the fomor in the chest with all four legs and slamming the monster to the ground under his force. Carlo shrieked in agony for a moment, then fell still as Richard was sprayed in the face by the seawater that was still rushing through the torn pipe sticking out of Carlo's rib cage. As the monster died, Carlo shrank back to his normal size, but his skin did not grow back over his muscles. Eamon ripped the body free of the pipe, then threw it overboard and resumed his normal human form. Richard also reverted to his human shape, and looked over the badly damaged pump.  
  
"I hope we still have enough water to put that fire out," the Fianna stated simply.  
  
Ian had not known there was going to be a fire in the hold that night, but luck was certainly with him. He waited as the third mate who had been piloting the ship left the bridge, then crept in himself and looked the place over. The bridge was a fairly large room with control panels for the hundreds of different areas on the boat, and large windows looking out over the main deck of the ship. As quietly as possible Ian shut the bulkhead behind him, wincing as the door squealed on its iron hinges. The he moved quickly to the front of the bridge, looking out on the main deck and seeing Eamon and Richard begin their battle against the monstrosity that had been Carlo. The Corax thought about descending to the deck and helping his two allies, but then turned back to the bridge and started his search. Richard and Eamon could handle just about anything the Wyrm could throw at them; what they needed more than anything else from Ian was information. With an efficiency born of countless hours of practice, Ian started to rifle through the desks of the bridge for anything that might help him find out how and when Captain O'Brien was going to sink the Regina Maersk, and also how the man planned on getting off the boat.  
  
The Corax stopped as he thought he heard something outside the bridge. Quickly Ian dropped back into the shadows and waited for a long moment, but no one entered the room. Once more he started his search of the desks, then stopped at the map table. The route of the ship and the progress it had made over the last few days was easily interpreted, and the Corax not noted with some interest that the Regina Maersk was intentionally diverting its course; they were more than fifty miles south of where they should be, according to the red line that indicated the present course of the ship and the black one that denoted the original route that was to be taken. The red line stopped approximately thirty or forty miles short of a black "X" on the maps, one that was out in the middle of the Atlantic with no apparent significance as far as normal shipping procedures went. Quickly Ian committed the map to memory, not wanting to disturb the bridge in any noticeable way, then continued his search to find anything more out about the bombs on board. If the mark on the map was truly the site where O'Brien planned on sinking the ship, then they had less than a day to find the explosives and get them off the ship.  
  
He stopped as he was certain he heard someone outside the door to the bridge. Ian inched up to the door and listened at the bulkhead, and heard footsteps heading towards the control room. The Corax dropped back behind one of the control panels near the windows only a second before the door swung open with a loud squeal and two men entered the bridge.  
  
"Did Carlo finish off the two Irish?" Ian heard O'Brien ask. Quickly the Corax glanced around for some way out, but nothing was forthcoming.  
  
"I'm not certain," Mister Giambi replied. Ian glanced around the edge of the console, but drew back before Mister Raincoat Man could see the boy hiding. "Whether or not he does, though, he'll put the two of them out of commission long enough for us to destroy the ship."  
  
"That storm has set us back by more than a day," O'Brien snapped. "We should have been at the site already. I don't like these delays, and now the fire is going to cost us even more."  
  
"The fire was your idea," Giambi said. "You should have just let me kill them one at a time."  
  
"No, that wouldn't do," O'Brien countered. "We needed them to die from accidents, and Mazza's attempts have all failed. No, I want you to place evidence that the stowaway was the one that started the fire. That should keep them bouncing until this all blows up in their faces. Make sure Giuseppe posts a triple fire watch tonight. Men in pairs. I want the two Irish split up, and with people that won't allow them to slip away."  
  
"Of course," Giambi said, sounding a bit disgusted. "It would have been better if I had joined Carlo and killed them both on the deck."  
  
"Where's your sense of adventure?" O'Brien inquired, humor tingeing his voice. "Come on. The third mate will be back in a minute, so get out of sight."  
  
Ian listened for a long moment, but instead of hearing receding footsteps, they were getting closer. Ian ducked around the control panel he was using as cover just as Giambi disappeared out of the bridge and O'Brien reached the windows. Quickly the Corax rushed for the bulkhead and ducked through, hoping that neither of the two men had heard him.  
  
Richard and Eamon both trudged back down to the bunk room, soaked and covered in cuts, scratches, and burns. Most of the other sailors had returned as well, their faces covered with soot and streaked with sweat and seawater. Giuseppe turned to the two stragglers, and looked them over for a moment.  
  
"Where's Carlo?" the foreman finally asked.  
  
"When the fire exploded up through the hatches, he was thrown overboard," Eamon replied, doing a remarkable job of acting. It looked as though all of the sailors were buying his tone of regret and sadness. "I tried to grab him, but it all happened so fast..."  
  
"I know," Giuseppe said quietly. "We lost two below, as well. I don't know what happened down there, but we will find out. Until then, I want triple fire watch. Richard and Alfredo, Eamon and Louis, and Nicholai and Pavel. You six have watch until dawn. Then we'll find out what happened tonight."  
  
"Fire watch?" Eamon repeated, still not taking it all in. Giuseppe nodded.   
  
"And I want double sweeps of the hold," the foreman added. "Make sure that no embers catch on anything else. Got it?"  
  
"Yeah, I got it," Eamon grumbled, obviously upset with the detail. Richard groaned inwardly, as well; he had wanted to get to the bombs now, since everyone would be too tired to keep track of him, Ian, or Eamon, but fire watch would keep them from getting to it. Alfredo, in addition, would never let Richard get away from him for long enough to do anything about the bombs. Of all the dumb luck, Richard thought to himself. The Fianna scanned the bunk room once more, but Ian was still nowhere to be found.  
  
"Where's Ian?" Richard asked, turning to Giuseppe. The foreman glanced around the bunk room for a long moment.  
  
"Has anyone seen the kid?" Giuseppe asked. The sailors shook their heads.  
  
"Where the hell'd he disappear to?" one of the sailors asked.  
  
"I didn't see him anywhere in the hold while we were putting out the fire," another added.  
  
"Alright, fire watch, see if you can find him," Giuseppe said, turning to the six appointed sentries. "If you find him, bring him to me, immediately."  
  
"Right," Richard said. then he turned and started out of the bunk room, hoping that the ship would still be afloat by tomorrow night.  
  
When Ian finally got back to the bunk room, it was abnormally dark and quiet. Even the snoring that usually accompanied the sailors' sleep was diminished. Slowly the Corax slipped into the room, and made his way to his bunk. Silently he checked his footlocker in the dark, but it seemed as though no one had tampered with it yet. The few possessions that he had were still in place, and there was nothing in it that could link him to the fire in the hold. Quietly he climbed into his bed, and pulled the blanket up to his neck.  
  
He froze as he heard someone else enter the bunk room. From how quiet the person was, it was not someone coming back from fire watch. Ian closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, trying to appear asleep as someone moved up to his bunk through the rows of sleeping men. For a long moment someone stood over the Corax, and Ian could feel a pair of eyes watching him through the darkness. Still he didn't move, waiting to see if he would be killed on the spot or if the man was there simply to plant evidence. The he felt the gaze move away, and heard someone open his footlocker with disturbing ease. There was a slight rustle, then the man was gone, his quiet footsteps leading to the door and then through it.  
  
Ian waited for nearly a half hour before he moved. He silently opened his footlocker and took out a bottle of something that smelled like gas a rag soaked with it, then quickly carried them across the bunk room to Carlo's footlocker. The fomor wouldn't be needing it any longer, Ian thought as he called upon his innate mystical gifts. with a satisfactory click the lock on the footlocker opened, and Ian stuffed the bottle and the rag into the footlocker. Then he locked it again, made his way back to his cot, and lay awake with his eyes open until he heard the fire watch return somewhere near dawn. He closed his eyes then and nearly fell asleep before someone roughly grabbed him by the collar of his tee shirt and yanked him out of bed.  
  
Richard was flat out exhausted by the time he had finished with fire watch. He had been walking all night, trying unsuccessfully to get away from Alfredo for any appreciable length of time, and now wanted nothing more than to sleep, even if the ship was going to blow up in two hours. He was halfway to his cot when he heard Alfredo curse in Italian and grab someone from one of the cots, and recognized Ian easily as the boy was lifted out of his bunk.  
  
"Where the hell have you been?" Alfredo demanded, throwing the boy up against the wall. At first glance, Richard thought the boy had been woken up, but Ian regained coherence just a little too quickly for someone who had been sound asleep.  
  
"I was here!" Ian exclaimed. "What's going on? What did I do?"  
  
"There was a fire last night, you little shit!" Alfredo informed the Corax. "We could have used your fucking help to fight it!"  
  
"Fire? What fire?" Ian asked, acting as innocent as possible. Richard grabbed Alfredo and pushed him away from the boy, but several other sailors had already woken up and seen the Corax. Questions were starting to rapidly mount as the crew demanded to know where the boy had been during the fire. The room quieted suddenly, and Richard turned back to see Giuseppe, Eamon, and Louis in the doorway. Slowly Giuseppe walked up to the boy, and looked him over.  
  
"Nice night last night, wasn't it?" the foreman inquired, his gaze fixed on Ian.  
  
"Yeah, it was," Ian agreed. "Especially from on top of the bridge."  
  
"That was where you were?" Giuseppe concluded. Ian nodded. Giuseppe turned to the rest of the crew. "The fire was certainly arson," the foreman stated. "I want to inspect everyone's foot locker. Now."  
  
Ian dropped to his knees, and opened up his footlocker. All that was inside were a couple of shirts and pants. Giuseppe looked through the locker quickly, even looking under the clothing, but found nothing. Ian stood up and watched the foreman go as Giuseppe started to check everyone else's lockers. After forty-five minutes, all of the lockers had been checked, except for Carlo's. Slowly Giuseppe looked it over, then flipped open the lid. He stared into it for a long moment, then turned back to the other sailors.  
  
"Has anyone touched this locker?" the foreman asked. A few sailors shook their heads. Giuseppe hesitated for a long moment, seemingly uncertain what to say next. Finally, he continued. "Then the arsonist was killed by his own fire."  
  
A few of the sailors glanced around at each other, but no one said a word. Giuseppe's gaze fixed on Ian for a long moment, but the Corax could no longer be traced by evidence. Finally, the foreman walked out of the bunk room. A few of the other sailors looked Ian over with suspicion, but the Corax simply shrugged and turned back to his bunk and went back to sleep.  
  
IX  
  
"Everybody thinks I lit that fire, don't they?"  
  
"I do not think so," Pavel said, smiling slightly at Ian as the boy poked at the food on his tray. All through the day, the crew had been watching Ian for any signs of guilt. While they couldn't do anything about it yet, it was obvious that some evidence, real or invented, was going to show up on the boy so that they could take out their frustration on losing three sailors in the fire. "Maybe we will find some way to clear your name, yes?"  
  
"I hope so," Ian said, watching some of the other Italians. A couple had been looking for any opportunity to find the boy away from his two larger Irish companions; evidently, they weren't very keen on waiting for proof to appear before they meted out their punishment.  
  
"Just stay close to us, and everything will be alright," Eamon said with a bit of a grin. "I donna think any Italian is goin' ta take me in a fight."  
  
"Yeah, but any three will," Richard commented, eating the last bit of bread he had gotten with dinner. "By the way, have you seen the new fire watch sheets?"  
  
"No," Eamon replied, looking up.   
  
"Well, all three of us are on it," Richard replied. "And you," he continued, gesturing to Ian, "are on it every night until we reach France."  
  
"Me? Why me?" Ian replied, looking shocked.  
  
"Probably because no one trusts you," Richard replied. "There's three people every night. One to watch for fires, one to watch you."  
  
"I should just jump ship now," Ian grumbled, his head dropping to the table with an audible thump.  
  
"Donna worry, Ian," Eamon said with a bit of a grin. "We won't kill ye tonight, and I think Suyama likes you. So you willna be killed tomorrow night."  
  
"Funny," Ian grumbled. "I'm gonna go get an hour of sleep. Um, Richard, are you done?"  
  
"Yes, I'll come protect you," Richard grumbled, standing up and picking up his tray. The two started back into the bunk room, and Eamon turned back to his two Russian companions.  
  
"What a trip this is goin' ta be," the Irishman said, shaking his head.  
  
Richard made his way back from the galley slowly, resigning himself to being Ian's bodyguard for the rest of the voyage. As he reached the bunk room, he saw Ian already checking for signs of any other sailors. Then he turned back to Richard.  
  
"We have to make our move, tonight," the Corax stated simply. For once, Ian looked deathly serious.  
  
"What's going on?" Richard asked, hazarding a quick glance over his shoulder. For the time being, they had as much privacy as they were going to find on the ship.  
  
"Either O'Brien or Raincoat man set that fire last night to give Carlo a chance to whack the both of you," Ian started. "I overheard the two of them talking in the control room last night. We're fifty miles south of where we should be, and there was an "X" on the map that was only about thirty miles east of our present position. If I'm right, we're going to hit that "X" by tomorrow morning. I'd rather not wait to see what happens once we reach it."  
  
"Me either," Richard said. "Lucky thing we all got fire watch tonight."  
  
Ian gave Richard a skeptical glance.  
  
"Lucky?" the Corax repeated. Richard shrugged.  
  
"At least we'll all be awake," the Fianna stated simply. Ian turned and dropped onto his bunk.  
  
"I am so dead," the Corax lamented. Eamon, Pavel, and Nicholai walked into the bunk room just as Ian finished speaking, then two more sailors. Giuseppe followed the group in, and looked over the group in the bunk room.  
  
"Richard, Ian, Eamon, you all know you have fire watch tonight, right?" the foreman inquired. All three nodded slowly. "Good. Just checking. I'd rather not have another fire break out on board."  
  
"I'll keep a look out for anything suspicious," Ian said. One of the sailors said something in Italian. Richard shot a warning glance to the Corax. Giuseppe simply snorted out a laugh.  
  
"You do that, kid," the foreman said. Then he turned and walked out of the bunk room past a few more returning sailors. Richard leaned down over the Corax, looking fairly disgusted with Ian's sarcastic remark.  
  
"We only have a few hours until fire watch," the Fianna said simply. "Try not to get killed before that, okay?"  
  
"I'll see what I can do," Ian replied, smiling innocently. Richard shook his head in disgust, wishing that he could gag the boy before he said anything else to the wrong people. Finally, he turned back to his bunk and took advantage of the two hours he would have before fire watch. With the rapidly escalating level of noise in the bunk room, Richard was certain he would never get any sleep before he was forced to go on fire watch for the second night in a row.  
  
It felt like he had just fallen asleep when someone shook him awake, and Richard looked up to see Eamon standing over him with a pair of flashlights. For a long moment the Fianna stared up at the Irishman, too sleepy to reprimand his companion for waking him.  
  
"Ye've been asleep for three hours," Eamon stated simply. "It's time to go look for more fires."  
  
"I hate this," Richard grumbled, getting up. He took the flashlight and looked around the bunk room, silent now except for a few snoring sailors. "This is a first. Everyone's asleep."  
  
"Scary, isn't it?" Ian commented, standing a few feet away. Richard glanced around the bunk room once more, then turned back to his bunk. Slowly he lifted up the mattress and pulled Caliburn out from its hiding place, looking the elegant golden hilt over.  
  
"Get your weapons," the Fianna stated grimly. Eamon and Ian both nodded, returning to their own bunks and retrieving their swords. With a last look at the sleeping crew, the three quickly disappeared out of the bunk room and onto the gangways that led over the cavernous hold of the Regina Maersk.  
  
Slowly Richard started out over the hold, looking down on the maze of containers that were piled as high as the hatches in most areas to form walls almost thirty feet high. Ian stayed close behind, his keen eyes watching the darkness for any hidden attackers. Falling back slightly to guard against an attack from the bunk room, Eamon had already drawn his broadsword, the steel blade glittering weakly in the dim lights of the hold and the bunk room. The Fianna started down into the hold, then turned and waited as his two allies caught up. Eamon remained on the steps as Ian glanced around the hold, watching even now for any attackers.  
  
"The bombs are in the bilge, right?" Richard asked. Ian nodded. "There's a lot of bilge for this ship. Were they any more specific?"  
  
"No," Ian replied. "But my guess would be that it's near the stern, to destroy the engines when it goes up."  
  
"What about the Rite of the Questing Stone?" Eamon asked, his eyes still on the walkways above.  
  
"It didn't work last time," Ian explained. "I tried it three days into the trip."  
  
"Try it again," Richard said. "If they're setting a trap for us right now, at least they might use the bombs as bait."  
  
"I'll give it a shot," Ian relented, taking a short string out of his pocket. Tied to the end of it was a small, round stone made of pyrite. Ian had always liked the glitter of the small piece of fool's gold that he had found during their first days together, and had incorporated it into his ritual. Holding the string out in front of him, the Corax started the pyrite spinning. "I seek the explosives that are going to be used to blow up the ship," Ian stated. Slowly the pyrite stopped spinning, and finally pointed to the stern of the ship.  
  
"Well, the stern it is," Richard said, analyzing the result of the quick little ritual. Ian shrugged, looking extremely skeptical.  
  
"I don't think it's a good idea to follow this," the Corax stated.  
  
"I'm open to suggestions on how else to find the bomb," Richard said, looking at Ian. The boy was quiet for a long moment, not having any better ideas to offer. "Okay, the stern it is. And be ready for a trap."  
  
"I feel so much better now," Ian said, taking the lead and following the direction of the stone. Richard was only a step behind him, and Eamon a few feet behind that, but the Corax took little comfort in that. At any moment he expected a legion of fomori and banes to appear out of the darkness and attack, bringing their mission to a bloody end. He heard Richard's sword slide out of its sheath as he continued to walk, and tried to put the noises of the hold out of his mind as he focused on his objective.  
  
It felt like an eternity before the trio finally made their way back to the steerage compartments, blocked off by a pair of heavy double doors that seemed dwarfed by the containers stacked around them. Ian glanced around them uneasily, having expected an attack long before now, but still the hold remained deathly silent but for the normal creaking of the hull. Richard came to a stop behind him, and looked over the double doors.  
  
"Probably in there somewhere," the Corax said quietly. Richard nodded, and moved forward to open the doors. They pushed inward with a terrible screech, opening up on the somewhat cramped confines of the rudder control room. Richard waited for a long moment, expecting a fomor or a bane to leap from the darkness of the steerage compartments, but after a good ten seconds had passed nothing made a move to attack them. Finally, Richard stepped through the bulkhead and looked around. Ian entered a moment later, his eyes darting nervously about the room in search of an ambush. Eamon stopped at the doors, sword in hand as he watched for any signs of an attack from behind. Ian finally glanced down at the stone dangling from his hand, which was spinning slowly on the end of the string, then put it back in his pocket.  
  
"This is it," the boy said quietly, looking around. Richard pointed to a trap door on the floor, a three foot square cut into the steel.  
  
"That must be the bilge," the Fianna guessed, gesturing to the hatch with his sword.  
  
"Must be," Ian agreed reluctantly.  
  
"Alright," the Fianna said, appraising the hatch. It would probably be an easy task for a crinos werewolf to rip it open. "I'll open it, then you have to go in."  
  
"Why me?" the Corax asked indignantly. "I hate water!"  
  
"Ian, this is no time to argue," Richard stated. "We don't know how much time we have before someone notices that the fire watch isn't watching for fires. You're the smallest, which means you can fit through there better than Eamon or me. When I open this up, you have to get in there and find the bomb."  
  
"I knew I shouldn't have come along on this trip," Ian grumbled, staring at the ground. A scuffle echoed through the hold, catching Eamon's attention at the doors. For a long moment the Irishman peered into the darkness, but could see nothing beyond the first row of containers. Ian paid the sound no attention as he considered diving into the foul smelling water of the bilge. "Okay, let's get this over with."  
  
"Donna be takin' so long," Eamon warned, hearing a second scuffle. This one was closer, perhaps no more than a dozen or so yards away, but he could still see nothing through the gloom. Tensing for an attack, the Irishman's body started to shift and distort, rapidly growing to his full crinos size. Richard reached down even as his own body changed to that of his crinos form, and ripped the hatch away with one powerful tug. Ian hesitated for a moment as the awful smell of the bilge rapidly spread through the steerage compartments, then took off his shirt and took a step towards the hatch. He stopped as he looked into the water, then turned to Richard's huge crinos form.  
  
"I want you to know how much I hate you for this," the Corax stated simply. Richard pointed with one clawed finger to the bilge. "Alright. I'm going."  
  
Ian sat down at the edge of the hatch and prepared to dive into the bilge, but suddenly the tainted, foul smelling water fountained up through the opening. Ian was thrown back by a torrent of the stinking liquid, somersaulting backwards and scrambling to his feet as both Richard and Eamon turned on what was coming up through the trap door. The water started to quickly coalesce from a wild spray into a vaguely humanoid form, sprouting two massive arms and a shifting, amorphous head. Richard and Eamon both made a move to intercept the creature, but was stopped by a low, even chuckle from the railing above them. Ian, Eamon, and Richard all turned to the railing to see both Mister Giambi and a bright eyed, sandy haired man dressed in a white dress shirt and plain black pants.  
  
"Ooh, what do we have here?" the stranger asked as he looked over the trio. Ian knew the voice well enough from spying on the bridge; Captain O'Brien had finally made his appearance. Unlike Mister Raincoat Man, O'Brien did not look anything like a fomor; his eyes were a clear, crystal blue, and his sandy hair was pushed back from a ruggedly handsome face seasoned by the wind and sun of the Atlantic. While that meant he wasn't a fomor, or at least not a normal fomor, that hardly ruled out O'Brien as a dangerous opponent. He could be some kind of mage, or he could be one of the Black Spiral Dancers, the tribe of werewolves that had long ago been corrupted by the Wyrm and turned against their Garou cousins. There was a slim chance that O'Brien was an ordinary human, Ian thought as he watched the man for any sudden moves, but the Corax doubted that was the case. O'Brien smiled at him as he continued. "It looks like two little Irishmen and a bird brained runt!"  
  
"You must be Captain O'Brien," Ian said, hand on the hilt of his sword. The captain nodded.  
  
"I must be," he confirmed. "All the other names were taken."  
  
"So will you let us get the explosives out, or do we have to kill you?" Ian inquired, not appearing the least bit frightened. The captain considered the options for a moment.  
  
"Why don't you join us, let the ship sink, and then everyone lives happily ever after?" Captain O'Brien countered. Richard shook his head.  
  
"Time to die," the Fianna growled. He raised his sword and rushed forward, ready to jump up to the gangway above.  
  
He was cut off as a ring of fomori and banes appeared around them.  
  
X  
  
Richard stopped in his tracks, quickly appraising the enemies aligned against him. He could see Giuseppe, twisted into a spongy looking, humanoid figure with a huge sledgehammer in his hands, drooling off to his right. Dominick was also there, his body crackling with electricity as he twirled a length of electrically charged chain in his hands. All of the other sailors seemed to be present, their bodies twisted and deformed by the corrupting presence of the banes. Banes that hadn't merged with any host were also present, as gaseous forms floating above the fomori or as demonic looking, humanoid creatures scarred by radiation burns. A glance back over his shoulder showed Eamon holding his broadsword in front of him, growling as he backed up a step from a mass of twisted, ratlike things chattering in front of him. Ian was also in his crinos form, holding his own blade in a defensive posture. Slowly Richard turned back to O'Brien, who was still standing on the gangway above them with Mister Giambi at his side. A deathly silence fell over the steerage compartments as the three intruders faced off against a far larger group of fomori and banes.  
  
Ian glanced up to see Captain O'Brien's smile begin to widen. The Corax looked on in disgust as oily black smoke began to issue from the man's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, followed by tongues of sickly green balefire, the polluted fires of the Wyrm. O'Brien's skin began to blacken and char as he grew taller, rising to nine feet in height. Smoke rose in wisps from his gaunt, lupine frame as his eyes, now dancing with balefire, swept over the Fianna in rage.  
  
"Destroy them!" O'Brien bellowed, pointing down at the Garou. Richard turned and bolted for Eamon as the fomori and banes surged forward. Within the confines of the steerage compartments, the Fianna knew he and his companions would be cut to pieces in seconds; their only hope lay in getting back out to the maze and cutting their enemies apart piece by piece. Eamon was already cutting a swath towards the door, and together the two Fianna forced their way back to the double doors. A large black raven flew out of the stern as Eamon and Richard slammed the doors shut, catching one of the smaller fomori between the doors and crushing his ribs and innards. With the doors closed most of the way, the two Fianna turned and bolted into the darkened hold, already hearing the doors crash open again and the Wyrmspawn carry their chase out into the rest of the Regina Maersk.  
  
Richard and Eamon wound their way through the enormous hold of the cargo ship, but already it seemed as though the fomori were beginning to close in on the pair as they raced away. Hoots and shouts could be heard along with the scuffles of men running through the hold, cutting down the alleys and corridors made by the packing containers. The two Fianna turned another corner and ran headlong into a trio of fomori, taking the three Wyrmspawn by surprise. One swipe of Caliburn's blade tore the head from one man's shoulders, while Eamon dropped low and impaled a second one to the crossguard on his broadsword. The third turned to run in fear, but both Garou pounced on the unfortunate fomor and tore him apart until he was little more than a bloody stain on the floor. Eamon turned quickly as he heard the mass of the fomori starting to gain, then turned to Richard as he prepared to meet the charge.  
  
"Get going!" the Irishman shouted. "I can draw them away long enough for ye ta get ta the hold!"  
  
"You sure?" Richard asked, hearing the shouts of a large number of fomori heading their way. Eamon smiled.  
  
"It'll take more than a couple a fomor and banes ta kill me," the Irishman said with a smirk. Richard hesitated another moment, then sheathed his sword and sprinted off, shrinking down to his wolf form and disappearing into the darkened hold. A moment later Eamon took off for the bow, already seeing the first fomori starting to pick up his trail.  
  
Ian flew up through the nearest open hatch of the Regina Maersk, already deciding that he was no match for the heated combat that would take place below. While werewolves were built for power and toughness, the Corax, even in his own, comical crinos form, was hardly on a level with the Garou. Wheeling around in the night sky over the ship, the Corax descended quickly, calling once more on the gifts granted to his kind by the avatar of Raven as he streaked over the huge ship. As he cleared the first quarter of the ship, Raven's gift had already proven useful; he could "feel" the movements of over two score fomori and about as many banes in the hull of the ship. His keen sight picked up movement on the main deck, and quickly the raven turned to the port side of the vessel. On the deck, hurriedly climbing the ladder to the crane controls, were two fomori, with two more allies guarding the base of the crane. A large packing container swung gently in the breeze from the tower, hanging over an open hatch. It didn't take a genius to realize that the fomori were planning on dropping that container on the Fianna should they ever make their way under the hatch. Quickly Ian peeled back into the sky and started a long dive for the higher of the two fomori.  
  
Eamon snarled in rage and hacked his way through another bane, sending it back to its spirit realm in a cloud of fouls smelling smoke and a puff of balefire. Three of the Wyrm tainted spirits had fallen to him already, but many more were on their way. A hungry chattering sounded to his right, and the Irishman turned to see a horde of misshapen rats, their eyes glowing red in the darkness, charging towards him. One rat would not have been a problem, and even a dozen would have been a quick, simple victory for the Fianna, but it seemed as though the rats covered the floor of the corridor and even raced along the tops of the containers in an effort to reach their prey. Quickly Eamon turned and rushed down another passage, hacking through one fomor that appeared in his path and turning quickly right as another group appeared in his way. Once more Eamon turned and rushed away as a second swarm of rats appeared down one corridor, then tore his way through a pair of startled banes and continued his sprint through the darkness.  
  
Eamon continued his dash through the cargo hold, hearing the shouts of the fomori and the hisses of the banes as they started to close in on him. The Fianna could feel himself being directed to the port side of the ship, but there was simply no way to get around it with the numbers of banes after him.   
  
Quickly Eamon turned and rushed down another alley, finding himself face to face with a quick little man who crackled with electricity as he lashed out with his chain at the werewolf.  
  
"Hee hee, big bad werewolf try to kill little man!" Dominick cackled, his voice buzzing with electricity. "Come get me, Irish!"  
  
Eamon snarled and lashed out, but Mazza was stunningly quick; he seemed to simply vanish in a cloud of sparks and reappear to the Fianna's right before Eamon could follow the movement. Dominick laughed maniacally as he lashed out with his chain, sending up a splash of brilliant sparks as Eamon batted the weapon away with his sword. A jolt ran up from the blade to the Irishman's arm, but he ignored it as he tried to grab Dominick with his free hand. The electrician rolled backwards and out of the way, his chain throwing out more sparks as it hit off the floor and the containers. Quickly the little man jumped back to his feet, ready to launch another attack. Eamon was ready to oblige his opponent, but started to back off as he saw the swarms of rats, the packs of banes, and the dozen fomori closing in. Then he turned and sprinted away, turning left quickly as he reached the port side of the cargo hold.  
  
Ian let out a loud caw as he descended on the ladder, and the two fomori turned in time to see the Corax slam into the lead sailor's face, beak leading the way. The fomor screamed and clawed at his face as Ian jabbed his beak into the man's eye and pulled the organ out, then flew away before he could be caught in the man's grasp. As the raven climbed back into the sky, the blinded fomor let go of the ladder as he clutched at the now empty socket in his face, falling back to the ground thirty feet below and knocking his companion loose. Dropping the eye, Ian quickly flew into the crane's control booth, and reverted to his human form. One glance to the deck revealed the other two fomori starting to hastily climb the ladder and a peek into the cargo hold showed Eamon turning and swatting away an electrified chain as he fought off Dominick Mazza. Quickly the Corax looked over the control panel, but nothing was labeled to help the boy figure out what control lowered the container. He glanced back to the climbing fomori, then to the hold to see Eamon backing away.  
  
"Um, this one?" Ian said to the night air, pressing one button. Nothing happened. "Ah, fuck this," the boy said. He hit every other control on the panel, then glanced out to see the crane swinging right even as the container dropped.  
  
Eamon backed up another step and parried away another swing of Dominick's chain, trying to figure out some way of getting away from the electrician long enough to get back to the bow and draw the rest of the fomori after him. He was being herded back to the steerage compartments, and that was no good if Richard was there trying to get the bombs. He turned and took one step to run when something slammed down in the cargo hold behind him, almost scraping his back. He turned and found a wall directly in front of his face that hadn't been there only a moment ago, and looked down to see Dominick's head spitting arcs of electricity as the man was crushed to death under a dropped packing container. The Irishman glanced up for a moment, and saw the crane spinning away from the cargo hold. Already the fomori and banes were starting to scramble over the container, but it bought Eamon the time he needed to escape the narrow alley and make his way back towards the bow of the ship.  
  
It took a moment or so, but Ian quickly found the controls to stop the crane from spinning and tried to see down into the cargo hold. Something was spitting a few sparks below, but already the fomori and banes were starting to clamber over the container. The Corax had no time to see if Eamon had escaped, however, as a huge hand shattered the glass and grabbed for the boy's shirt.  
  
"Come here, runt!" Giuseppe shouted, reaching into the control compartment and snagging the boy's shirt. "You've got some explaining to do!"  
  
"Hey! Come on! Leggo!" Ian exclaimed, trying to pry the man's grip loose. Giuseppe let out an evil laugh as he dragged the Corax a bit closer to the shattered glass window of the cab. "I didn't do it! Honest!"  
  
"I'm gonna rip your feathered hide apart!" Giuseppe snarled. He pulled even harder on the Corax's shirt, and then Ian pushed himself forward, using the foreman's own momentum to push him back off of the crane. Giuseppe let go of the Corax as he started to fall, and quickly Ian changed shapes again to his raven form, gliding down to the deck while Giuseppe slammed into it from almost fifty feet above. Landing near the spreadeagled man, Ian resumed his human form, and looked over the spongy carcass.  
  
"That's what you get!" the boy exclaimed, kicking the corpse. Even as his foot connected with Giuseppe's spongy side, the foreman came back to life and grabbed the Corax's ankle. Before Ian could do anything else, the foreman had thrown the boy over him. Ian crashed face first to the deck, dazed but still rolling out of the way in an attempt to evade the attack he was certain was coming. He heard Giuseppe's fist slam into the ground next to him as he rolled away. A second punch glanced along the side of his face as he kept moving, hoping to find cover before the fomor got in a clean shot.  
  
"Drop me from five stories, will you?" the foreman demanded. He kicked Ian once, lifting the boy's body into the air as he flew back a few feet. "I didn't like that!"  
  
Ian jumped back to his feet, still trying to catch his breath as he changed to his crinos form and drew his sword. Giuseppe seemed unprepared for such a tactic, and stopped for a moment in surprise. Using that time well, the boy lunged forward, slicing once through the foreman's chest before he reacted. Belatedly Giuseppe turned to ward off a second attack, but while his new, tainted body could survive any impact, sharp objects were another matter entirely. Ian ripped another gash through the foreman's chest, and the big man collapsed to the ground as his insides literally leaked out.  
  
Richard kept to the shadows of the starboard side of the Regina Maersk, creeping along the moonlit main deck of the ship as he heard fighting all around him. While Eamon and Ian both certainly needed help, the Fianna continued his quiet pace, leaving Ian and Eamon behind as he made his way to the stern. The explosives were the main thing now; one Fianna and one Corax was a small price to pay to stop a disaster of this magnitude. Richard stopped in his tracks as he heard a chuckle behind him. He turned quickly to see O'Brien's gaunt, charred crinos form standing behind him.  
  
"You," Richard snarled, raising Caliburn.  
  
"Yes, me," Captain O'Brien replied, his voice holding the slightest tinge of humor. A smile spread along the Black Spiral Dancer's canine maw, revealing fire blackened teeth.  
  
"Surrender or die," Richard growled. Even to one who couldn't understand the canine language of the Garou, the threat was obvious. Caliburn's blade erupted with brilliant silvery flames, and the Fianna took a step forward.  
  
"I'm sorry, but neither of those options are acceptable," O'Brien said, drawing a large, jagged knife. Sickly green tongues of balefire flickered to life along the foot long blade.  
  
Richard did not hesitate another second. He charged forward on the attack, intent on landing a quick, debilitating hit on the Black Spiral Dancer and continue his quest for the explosives. O'Brien leapt out of the way of the powerful overhead strike, and smiled as he pointed his knife to the ground. A single drop of balefire fell from the blade to the metal deck, quickly melting into the steel without trace. As Richard moved in again on the Black Spiral Dancer, the steel deck twisted and contorted, rising into a vaguely humanoid monster with two gigantic, hammerlike fists. Richard halted his charge, taking stock of his new opponent.  
  
"You should have realized by now that this entire ship is fighting on my side," O'Brien taunted from behind the metallic golem. "Have fun, Mister Drachir. I have other things to attend to."  
  
Richard made a quick move to get around the elemental, but the golem slammed one fist down in front of Richard and moved to the attack. Quickly the Fianna backed up and swung his blade at the monster, striking a deep score along the creature's side, but it turned as if it had not even been hit and swatted at Richard with its massive fists. Trying to see past the elemental, Richard could no longer see any sign of O'Brien, but he had no time to consider where the Black Spiral might have gone as the golem continued to flail away at its target.  
  
Eamon paused for a moment to catch his breath, and glanced around the hold of the Regina Maersk one more time. He was getting closer to the bow, but it seemed as though the fomori were starting to turn back to the stern in an effort to protect the explosives rather than come out after the Garou. More and more the cries of the Wyrmspawn faded back to the ship's rear, and fewer and fewer of his enemies found Eamon's path. The Irishman considered heading back for the explosives himself, but that would bring the fighting back where they wanted it least. He also thought of moving just close enough to get their attention and lead them away again, but the fomori were probably even now being told to expect such a ploy. Finally, knowing that he was most likely ensuring his own death with his next move, he turned his head to the sky and let out a piercing, crazed howl that echoed off of the metallic walls of the hold. The Call of the Wyrm was the last howl any sane Garou would have issued in such a situation, but the Fianna knew that no Wyrm creature would resist the enchanted cry for long, and they would soon find their way to the bow of the ship. That would give Richard and Ian more room to operate, and hopefully, his death wouldn't be in vain. Grimly Eamon set himself for the inevitable charge that he would face, and raised his bloodied sword in front of him as the first of the fomori found the Fianna. As the Wyrmspawn started to close in, Eamon lifted his head once more, and the Regina Maersk and the sea around it carried the defiant howl of the Call of the Wyld.  
  
Richard backed off a step and parried away another thunderous strike, but still couldn't find a way around the monstrous elemental in his path. The ponderous spirit wasn't so much a threat to the Ahroun as it was a nuisance, but it was extremely durable and seemed able to shrug off the Fianna's repeated blows with ease. Once again the monstrous fists swung out in a flailing strike, and once again Richard ducked under the attack and slammed his fiery blade into the elemental's side. Still it shrugged off the attack, and turned to Richard in another clumsy attempt to hit its enemy.  
  
The golem halted its attack as a psychotic, ear piercing howl carried out over the deck of the cargo ship, and Richard hesitated as the monster seemed unable to decide whether or not it should continue its fight. Richard glanced past the elemental and noticed the railing just beyond it, then watched as the golem turned and started for the bow of the ship. Wasting no more time, Richard lowered his shoulder and slammed into the monster just above the hips, knocking the spirit over the railing and into the dark waters of the Atlantic. The golem disappeared below the water with a monstrous splash, its weight rapidly carrying it to the ocean floor. Finally freed up from his battle, the Fianna took one step towards the stern when he heard Eamon's second howl, the Call of the Wyld, carry out over the water. Fighting off the impulse to join the Irishman in his final stand, the Fianna rushed headlong for the stern of the ship, hoping to reach the explosives before O'Brien decided to detonate them.  
  
Taking the opportunity that Eamon was affording him, Ian streaked over the deck of the Regina Maersk in his raven form and plunged through the hatch that he had dropped the packing container through only a couple of minutes before. Leveling out and flying through the alley towards the stern of the ship, Ian prayed that he would be quick enough to take full advantage of his comrade's diversion. While the Corax was fairly certain that Eamon's decision to use the Call of the Wyrm was suicidal at best, and Ian didn't want to see the Irishman dead any time soon, someone had to get to the explosives, and that someone was going to have to be small enough to fit into any crack the bombs had been hidden in. The Corax's attention was suddenly caught by a sparkle off to his left; he knew he had to get to the stern, but the glittering object wasn't too far off, and he would only skim over it for a second. Quickly he found the sparkle to be nothing more than a bit of foil that had somehow drifted onto the top of one of the containers, but Ian had no time to curse himself for bad judgment as something landed on his back and started to gnaw at his neck. Cawing in surprise and pain, Ian dropped like a stone to the top of the container, and quickly changed to his crinos form as he tried to reach the rat chewing on him. Getting it by the tail, the Corax ripped the rodent free and slammed it to the ground, then impaled the little monstrosity on his sword. Quickly he glanced around, and found several dozen pairs of eyes glowing blood red in the darkness of the metal beams that held the ceiling of the hold. One by one the rats started to drop to the container around him as Ian tried to keep any from landing on top of him. In moments a small horde had formed around him, chattering as they closed in quickly.  
  
Ian quickly concentrated, and in a heartbeat the feathers of his wings hardened to razor sharp steel. The rats scurried in hungrily, looking to eat the Corax alive, but two low slashes that screeched along the container cut four of them in half and forced the rest of the rodents to slow their attack. More and more charged in as Ian continued to swipe away, scoring the container and severing pieces of rats in a circle around him. The horde was coming in too quickly, though; one swipe kept several at bay, but more closed from behind him and one bit into his leg before he could cut it loose. Quickly the Corax took to the air again, his crinos form making flight clumsy but effective enough to get him away from the demonic rats. He hit the floor of the hold a second later, prying the dead rat's head from his leg with a wince of pain. He looked up in time to see almost a dozen fomori charging down the aisle at him, then turned and bolted back into the hold to try and lose his pursuers.  
  
Half a dozen fomori were dead at his feet already, and the acrid smoke of a half dozen dissipated banes hung in the air around him. Still, however, Eamon found himself facing more and more attackers, threatening to overwhelm him with the sheer weight of their numbers. The Fianna backed off step by step, swinging away at the sailors as they tried to close in, then turned and sprinted back a few yards. He needed to hold his attackers here for as long as possible; if he didn't, his last stand would mean nothing. One fomor slammed a length of pipe into his side, but Eamon hardly noticed it as he took the man's arm off at the shoulder. A bane clawed into his left arm as he tried to ward the beast off; Eamon rammed his broadsword through the creature's skull, and it was sent back to its spirit realm. Two more fomori heaved a large metal beam at him, but the Fianna was just fast enough to skip backwards out of its way. More and more fomori closed in, and Eamon turned and bolted, hoping to lead them even farther from the stern. If nothing else, the Fianna thought grimly as he found and gutted a fomor that had been trying to sneak up behind him, the bow would keep all of his enemies in front of him. Even as he retreated farther into the ship, Eamon could already see fomori and banes breaking off and heading back to the stern.  
  
Without so much as hazarding a glance behind him, Ian raced blindly through the corridors of the hold, looking for any possible way to escape his pursuers before they could reach him. He skidded around another corner just before one of the fomori could reach him, and found the smashed container he had dropped earlier forming a barrier only a dozen or so yards away. With every last bit of strength the Corax raced for the barrier, already lifting into the air in his awkward flight. Just before he could clear the container, a hammer slammed into one of his wings, almost knocking the Corax out of the air. The hit cost him too much altitude, and Ian smacked into the top of the container and dropped back into the cul-de-sac formed by the containers. The fomori wasted no time charging in on what they considered a helpless foe, pipes, hammers, and chains at the ready to beat the Corax to death.  
  
They had not expected the Corax to be able to fight back, but Ian slashed away with his razor wings just as the first fomor reached him. That one dropped back, gurgling pitifully as he tried to stop the bleeding from his slit throat, but two more took his place and charged in on the lone Corax. Ian put them on the defensive with a quick slash of his sword and a swipe of his wings, but they fanned out to either side and allowed a third fomor in at him, all grinning maliciously. All three moved as one, swinging away with their makeshift clubs as Ian tried to parry and strike back. One length of pipe hit the Corax along the arm, numbing it and nearly breaking bone, but Ian defiantly struck back, slicing into the man's thigh with his sword even as he ducked out of the way of another pipe. The third sailor caught him squarely in the back with his club, and the Corax stumbled to one knee. Quickly he tried to get back to his feet, but the three sailors had Ian dead to rights. Quickly they moved in, intending to finish the job before the Corax could strike any more of them down.  
  
A scream of terror halted their attacks. The three fomori and Ian all looked up to see something monstrous ripping through two fomori, a third one dead at its feet. It had to be at least eleven feet tall, with a huge, sharklike, tooth filled maw and long, finlike projections along its forearms. Quickly the fomori forgot about Ian and turned to the new, far more dangerous threat, but the creature seemed unstoppable as it ripped the pipe from one sailor's hands and then rammed the pipe through the man's head. A second fomor tried to grapple the creature, holding it while his companions beat it to death, but backed off screaming as his arms and chest were cut up by the monster's very skin. The creature surged forward and cleanly gutted another fomor with its fins, then turned and bit down on the last fomor's shoulder, breaking bone with a sickening crack and biting down to the man's heart. Finally, the thing stopped and regarded Ian, slowly stalking forward. The Corax put his wings up in a gesture of peace.  
  
The creature was suddenly halted as a dozen or more tentacles wrapped around it, nearly lifting it from the floor and crushing it in their grasp. Ian watched in shock as the monster struggled briefly, then stopped as several cracks and pops were heard throughout its body. As it fell to the ground, the creature reverted to its natural form, a twelve foot long mako shark. Ian looked up from the body to see Mister Raincoat Man standing behind it, dusting off his hands as his tentacles writhed around him in anticipation to crush the Corax next.  
  
"Fancy meeting you here, boy," Giambi said, folding his arms across his chest. To the Corax's stunned look, he continued. "What? Did you think we just picked out a spot at random to sink this ship? We were looking to get the Rokea. Nasty things, those weresharks. They screwed up some of Venizio's plans in the South Atlantic last year. And to think, we got an added bonus of wiping out two Garou and a Corax along the way."  
  
Giambi's face lit with an evil grin as he started forward, his tentacles already preparing to strike.  
  
Eamon climbed up to the gangways that ran above the hold of the Regina Maersk, taking a second to try and recover from the injuries he had already sustained. Slowly the Fianna glanced down into the hold, but little was visible to his eyes as he searched for the fomori that had to be below him. He could hear them below, still fighting for some reason, but neither Richard nor Ian should have been anywhere near the bow of the ship. Eamon quickly gave up on trying to figure out the cause of the fighting; he could worry about that after he made sure the explosives that were on board were no longer a threat. He turned to the stern of the ship, but stopped as he saw Pavel standing on the gangway, striking a match to light his pipe. As the Fianna looked on in surprise, the Russian took a long drag off of the pipe, and shook out his match.  
  
"It is strange night aboard ship, yes?" Pavel inquired, smoke drifting out from his nose and mouth as he spoke. Eamon raised his sword tentatively, waiting for an attack; no normal human could look upon a werewolf without going mad with fear from the Delirium. As the Russian saw the werewolf's surprised face, he chuckled a little. "Oh, do not be surprised, Fianna. I know all about your type."  
  
"Who are you?" Eamon growled out, his words only barely comprehensible. Pavel took another long drag off of his pipe, then started to laugh. He dropped his pipe to the ground, but more and more smoke started to issue from his mouth and nose.  
  
"I am your killer," the Russian stated with an evil leer. He suddenly started to grow larger, black fur sprouting unevenly along his heavily muscled body. Within moments, Pavel had become as large as Eamon, a werewolf that appeared to have been burned badly by radiation. "I am Shadow of Doom, Homid Black Spiral Philodox, and you, pup, will be the next to feel my burning touch!"  
  
Eamon snarled in anger and charged in, but the Black Spiral was ready for the attack. Pavel dodged to one side and came away from the wall with a ten foot long staff of black, twisted steel in his hands, twirling it easily and beckoning his opponent on. Eamon snarled again and lashed out quickly with his sword, but Pavel was ready for the attack and knocked it aside with his twirling staff. As finally stopped twirling the weapon, Pavel's staff burst into flame at each end, and halos of balefire grew to life around the tips of the weapon. The Fianna hesitated for only a moment, but it was enough time for Pavel to rush in and take up the offensive  
  
Eamon barely avoided the swift attack, dropping to one knee and lunging forward with his sword. The blade had only gone halfway to its target when the Black Spiral Dancer reversed the direction of his staff and batted the sword to one side, nearly knocking Eamon over with the sheer impact of the parry. The Fianna spun and leapt to his feet, lashing out with a vicious backhanded slash, but once again the fiery staff parried his blade away, striking sparks as the two connected. Pavel laughed hideously as he used the power of the Fianna's strike to reverse the staff's momentum and swing back at Eamon's head, but the Irishman saw the attack coming and skipped back a step, only singeing the end of his nose with the poisonous balefire. The Fianna continued to back up as his opponent pressed the attack, parrying away the staff as it struck first high at his head, then jumping over the fiery end of the weapon as Pavel attempted to take his feet out from under him. Wasting no motion, Eamon struck out in midleap, but his sword whistled only a fraction of an inch over Pavel's head as the Wyrm-tainted Garou ducked and rolled, following the momentum of his original attack. Hitting the ground and spinning, Eamon parried away another strike from the Black Spiral before Pavel had even gotten back to his feet, launching the staff in a lunge for the Fianna's stomach. The two backed off for a moment, slowly circling and sizing each other up a second time.  
  
"Come, Fianna," Pavel taunted, spinning his fiery staff in front of him and smiling madly. "Come fight me. Do not tell me you are frightened of one old Russian?"  
  
Eamon howled in rage and charged in again, beating away furiously with his sword at the Russian's defenses. Still Pavel parried masterfully; his staff seemed to form a solid wall of fire and steel between the two combatants until there was an almost constant ring of steel as sword met staff. Changing tactics, Eamon brought his sword down in a mighty overhand chop, bringing his sword down with all of his strength and intending to shatter the Black Spiral's defenses. Pavel skipped aside quickly, avoiding the attack and quickly swinging his staff for the Fianna's chest, but Eamon managed to jump and twist away in an awkward but effective dodge. Backing off and regaining his composure, Eamon tried to figure out some way through the Black Spiral Dancer's seemingly impenetrable defense. If he did not find a way through and defeat his opponent soon, there was a good chance that they could end up on the bottom of the Atlantic.  
  
Richard made his way quickly through the last section of the hold, silently reminding himself that he should commend Eamon for such a brilliant diversion if either one of them made it out of the ship alive. There were no fomori around the double doors to the steerage compartments, and the sounds of battle that echoed through the hold seemed to be enough for two armies instead of just the Irishman. Pulling the door open with one hand, the Fianna carefully made his way inside, and stopped as he saw two figures standing by the still open trap door to the build illuminated by the silvery flames of Caliburn. One was easily recognizable as O'Brien; the gaunt, charred werewolf grinned his fire blackened grin as he saw the Garou enter. The other was even more easily recognizable, and Richard stopped in mid stride. Slowly, Nicholai looked up from the ground, and smiled as he leaned on an impossibly large, greenish black mace.  
  
"This is bizarre turn of events, yes?" the Russian said, hefting his weapon onto his shoulder and taking a step forward. His smile became more malignant as he appraised the werewolf standing in front of him. "All this time, you think I am friend. That is why I offer you chance before I kill you. Maybe you join Wyrm now, become one of us."  
  
Richard raised Caliburn high in reply, wielding it in one massive arm. With a single lightning stroke he brought the fiery blade down, intent on cleaving the Russian in front of him in half and getting to O'Brien behind him.  
  
Caliburn was stopped in midswing by the mace, silvery fire and splashes of toxin flying from the weapons. A single drop of the poison splattered from the mace and burned into Richard's arm, but the Fianna was far more intent on worrying about Nicholai than such a minor injury. The Russian had grown in size to almost ten feet tall, his huge body rippling with muscles and covered by foul smelling, matted, oily black fur. Quickly Richard swung again, but once more the mace met his sword. Richard leaned in with all of his might, intent on driving the Black Spiral Dancer back under his force, but Nicholai was up to the task. Slowly he leaned over his weapon, a grin on his muzzle as his blood red eyes met Richard's angry gaze.  
  
"I will tear you apart, Fianna," Nicholai snarled over his mace. "I am Poison Storm, and none have ever been able to stand before me! I will skin you while you still live and wear your pelt as trophy!"  
  
"Promises, promises," Richard growled back. Nicholai broke off in a rage and raised his mace, his face contorting under the intensity of his anger.  
  
"I will crush every bone in your body!" the Black Spiral Dancer bellowed. He charged in, mace lifted high as he drove forward into the Fianna.  
  
They came together with enough force to throw them back apart. Mace and sword collided with a thunderous boom that pealed out through the hold, but before the sound had died away the two Ahrouns came together again. Richard struck a hard overhand chop that was deflected by Poison Storm's mace, but the Fianna had expected as much and lowered his shoulder to drive the Black Spiral into the wall. Nicholai stood his ground, even slamming forward to meet the attack, and the two once again bounced back through the combined force of their blows. Undaunted, Nicholai rushed forward, swinging at chest height with his mace, but Richard blocked it, once again feeling the mace's toxins start to burn into his side. The fires of Caliburn, however, returned the favor as the sword let loose a shower of sparks every time he parried the mace. Nicholai merely howled in rage as the sparks burned his skin and brought the mace down overhand to shatter his foe's skull. Once again Richard parried the monstrous weapon away, and once again was showered with the acidic spray of the mace. Nicholai no longer wanted to give Richard a moment to pause; the Black Spiral pounded away with the mace, pushing his opponent back into the cargo hold with the sheer ferocity of his attack. Richard parried each strike as a master, risking the showers of acid as he backed away from the monstrous, berserking Ahroun in front of him. Nicholai continued swinging madly with the monstrous, Wyrm-tainted mace, howling in berserker fury. Richard knew that no warrior could possibly keep up such a ferocious attack as Nicholai was launching for long, but he started to doubt his knowledge as the Black Spiral seemed to get nothing if not faster.  
  
Ian glanced around quickly for a way out of the cul-de-sac, but there was nowhere to go except through Giambi. The huge fomor grinned as he took another step forward, then unleashed a mass of tentacles at the Corax. Ian ducked and dodged away from Giambi's attack, barely getting out of the way of most of the tentacles that sprouted from the fomor's chest before they could wrap him up and squeeze the life from him. The Corax backed up against the smashed container quickly, slicing through a particularly large, thick tentacle even as two small, whiplike ones found their way through his defenses and cut thin lines of blood along his chest. Giambi laughed as he closed in, attacking again and again, losing several tentacles to Ian's sword and wings but having still more to make small gashes in the Corax's chest, arms, and face. Deciding on a desperate move, Ian turned and tried to fly for the top of the container behind him, hoping to get away long enough to ambush the fomor. One tentacle wrapped around Ian's ankle, but the Corax turned in midflight and hacked the offending appendage away, giving up his airborne position and tumbling to the ground. He looked up to see Giambi closing in on him, and managed to slip to one side of the fomor as he lashed out again with his tentacles. With the path to the rest of the hold now open, the Corax bolted into the darkened aisles, doing his best to disappear into the gloom. Giambi followed close behind, his tentacles writhing around him and hitting the containers to his sides as he searched for his opponent.  
  
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Giambi called out, looking around and seeing no one. While he was confident that he could take the Corax out in a straight fight, the fomor was not looking forward to having to find the wereraven in the middle of the fighting going on through the ship. He was needed in other places, and the boy was simply slowing him down. "Come out, and I'll make your death fairly quick."  
  
Giambi glanced around, not seeing him hiding by any of the containers, then heard the slightest noise above him. He looked up in time to see Ian descending on him, sword poised to strike down through the fomor's shoulder to his heart.  
  
Ian thought the move was pure genius on his part. Wait until Mister Raincoat Man was right under him, then drop on him from above. Who would look up in time? Evidently, Giambi would; the fomor jumped forward before the Corax's sword could do more than scratch him, avoiding the swift, debilitating blow Ian had planned. The Corax jumped back to his feet and crouched back in a low fighting stance, ready to ward off Giambi's attacks as soon as they came. The fomor puffed his chest out, and a mass of thin, whiplike tentacles shot out, each one barbed at the end. The Corax dropped low and whirled around, his razor sharp feathers cutting a dozen of the tentacles free of the fomor in midstrike, but almost half a dozen more found their way through, raking across Ian's side and back and drawing lines of burning pain across his skin. Ian backed up and whirled again, hearing Giambi laugh as another mass of tentacles shot forward. This time the Corax flew straight up, trying to dodge the attack, but Giambi seemed to have anticipated that move. The tentacles shot out for the Corax's legs, grabbing hold and slamming Ian back to the ground. As Ian tried to scramble back to his feet, he found the fomor standing over him, tentacles writhing menacingly.  
  
"Time to die, birdie," Giambi said with an evil grin. Tentacles shot out from the fomor's chest, swarming in on the Corax as he desperately tried to dodge out of the way.  
  
Eamon backed off another time as Pavel continued his steel wall tactics, still trying to find a way through the Black Spiral's defenses. Time was running out on the Fianna; he needed to make sure that Richard or Ian had achieved their goal and disabled the bombs. Eamon snarled and readied himself to strike again, pausing only to lash out and decapitate a wounded fomori that had been sneaking up on his left. Shadow of Doom smiled at the offhand slaying, and stopped twirling his staff. Slowly the two started to circle again, and Pavel began to grin evilly.  
  
Then he struck.  
  
The attack was lightning fast and deadly accurate. The fiery end of the balefire staff snuck past Eamon's defenses and burned into his side, lighting fur and skin before the Fianna could knock the weapon away. Pavel gave no quarter, but pressed the attack, pushing the injured werewolf back and forcing him to use the same steel wall tactics that Pavel had utilized to such tremendous effect. Pavel growled and snapped as he tried to make his way through Eamon's parries, but what few strikes did get through seemed not to effect the Fianna in any great way. Stepping up the tempo, Pavel started to become infuriated with his opponent's dogged determination. One strike found its way through and severely burned his opponent, but Eamon remained standing, not seeming to notice or care that he had taken a serious wound.  
  
"Fall! Fall, damn you!" Pavel screamed, lunging forward with his staff in a wild stab. Eamon dropped under the attack and lashed out at Pavel's chest, left open as the Black Spiral overextended himself with his attack. Eamon snarled in satisfaction as he felt the blade of his sword rip through his enemy's midsection, then rolled backwards as Pavel slammed his staff to the ground where the Fianna had been. As Eamon regained his feet, he found Pavel holding his side where Eamon had cut him, his fur and his hand stained with his blood.  
  
"Wolverine taught me a few tricks," Eamon stated with a cold grin. Indeed, the totem spirit Wolverine had imbued his sword with the power to sustain the Fianna through serious injuries such as the ones that had been inflicted on him by Pavel's balefire staff. With Pavel reeling from his last injury, Eamon surged forward, raising his sword for a great blow to finish the Black Spiral off. Pavel growled in rage and charged forward as well, intent on taking the Irish werewolf with him as he died. Eamon's sword slammed down through Pavel's shoulder, and the Fianna could feel bones shatter and flesh tear as his sword drove through the first two ribs in Pavel's chest. At the same time, Eamon howled in pain as the Black Spiral's staff simultaneously burned and tore into the Fianna's side, charring his flesh as he tried to stagger away from the Black Spiral's final attack. As Shadow of Doom finally collapsed, dead, Eamon turned and stumbled back towards the stern of the ship, not sure if he would live past the night but knowing that he had to make sure the job was done.  
  
Painful acid burns covered Richard's arms, chest, and even parts of his face, but still the Fianna kept up his desperate battle against Nicholai. Powered by berserker rage, the Black Spiral Dancer pounded again and again at the Fianna's defenses, driving him back into the hold under the force of his blows. Richard's arm ached from his parries and his wrist felt ready to break, but the Fianna continued to counter every thunderous strike that Nicholai could level. Dropping back even farther, Richard found himself in the corpse strewn alleys of the packing containers, but still Nicholai attacked with unmatched ferocity. Seeking an edge of any kind, the Fianna quickly tried to figure out the source of his enemy's ferocious strength and speed, and remembered that the militaristic tribe of werewolves known as the Get of Fenris often learned a gift that could elevate their fighting prowess to the level that Nicholai seemed to have achieved. Richard also remembered the greatest shortcoming of what the Fenris called the Might of Thor; once the gift had run its course, the one who had called upon the gift was rendered nearly helpless from exhaustion and weakness. Waiting out Nicholai's berserk attacks was a risky proposition, giving O'Brien too much time to either detonate the explosives or escape and Nicholai too much time to land a debilitating blow on the Fianna, but it was the only tactic he had left. Richard backpedaled even farther, ducking under a furious swing of the mace, seeing the sturdy metal wall of the nearest packing container dent almost a foot inward as Nicholai missed the Fianna's head. Even before Richard could chance a counterattack, the Black Spiral brought the mace crashing down, missing Richard's shoulder by the slimmest of margins as he ducked and rolled backwards. The Fianna sprang to his feet in time to meet his foe's next attack, but his quick parry was hardly enough to ward off the thunderous blow Nicholai leveled. Richard's sword fell away under the massive strike, and the head of the mace crushed down on the Fianna's shoulder, smashing bones under the impact.  
  
"You are mine, Fianna!" Poison Storm roared, drawing his mace back again. Richard's sword arm fell numb and useless as his shoulder shattered, and Caliburn slipped from his hand. Nicholai swung again, this time meaning to knock his foe's head from his shoulders, but Richard ducked under the mace even as he snatched his sword with his left hand an instant before the blade hit the ground. Roaring in rage, seeing the Fianna nearly prone on the ground before him, Nicholai hefted the monstrous mace over his head and brought the weapon crashing down, but Richard rolled quickly away before the mace could drive his head through the floor of the hold. Sparks and acid flew as the mace slammed into the steel deck, and as Richard looked back to where his head had been he could see the mace shaped dent that extended half a foot into the floor. The Fianna stumbled back to his feet, ready to fight left handed, but the Black Spiral Dancer was now staggering, barely able to lift the mace out of the hole he had created. As he tried to lift his mace into some measure of defense, Richard slammed Caliburn's fiery blade home, driving it through Nicholai's heart.  
  
It was a miracle he had lived this long, but Ian was not ready to thank his luck yet. Giambi's tentacles rained down on him from all sides, bashing into him or slashing through his skin with barbed hooks as he tried desperately to cut his way through the hail of blows. With a blood red haze clouding his vision, the Corax threw himself forward in a desperate last push, his razor sharp wings swiping out around him and severing more and more of the fomor's tentacles. Giambi was in sight now, wincing in pain as more of his extra limbs fell away, and Ian charged forward, sword leading the way as he surged towards the fomor's heart. One leg snapped at the knee and another attack nearly knocked him senseless, but Ian continued his charge with every last ounce of strength he could muster. He looked up as the sword cut into something and came to a halt, but instead of impaling the fomor on his sword, he found the blade being held to the right of Giambi's face by the man's bloody hand and three partially severed tentacles.  
  
"Almost, kid," Mister Raincoat Man said with a cold smile. He drew his right fist back as his few remaining tentacles raised up for a last, fatal strike on the badly wounded Corax. Too exhausted and too injured to put up a fight, Ian braced for the strike, his eyes locked in a cold gaze on the fomor's face.  
  
The last strike never came as Giambi's head disappeared inside a huge, tooth lined maw.  
  
Richard turned as he heard the terrible, croaking caw echo through the hold, recognizing it as a cry of pain from Ian somewhere nearby. Quickly the Fianna rushed for the sounds of his injured friend, forgetting for the moment the urgency of getting the bombs off of the ship in his hurry to help the Corax before he could be splattered across the cargo hold. Richard rounded one corner, then another, maintaining as much speed as his badly wounded body would allow, until he skidded to a halt in a narrow alley littered by bodies. Ian's still, silent form lay on the ground amid a mass of fomori, one leg twisted awkwardly under him and his face covered in a mask of blood. Considering the horrible beating the boy had taken, the Fianna thought it would be a miracle if Ian was even alive. He took one step into the alley before he noticed a huge, monstrous form standing to one side, still chomping on the head of one of the fomori. At the monster's feet, judging from the severed tentacles that sprouted from the chest of the corpse, was the decapitated body of Mister Giambi. The wereshark turned to regard Richard coldly, and for a long moment the two simply stared at each other. Finally, Richard lowered his sword and shifted back to his human form, hoping that the less intimidating form would keep the monster from attacking. After a moment, the wereshark also reverted to its homid form, appearing as a woman of fifty or so with wide set, cold, steel blue eyes and short, coarse gray hair. Even as a human the woman was over six feet tall and well muscled, big enough to play linebacker on any football team. As Richard noticed that the woman had no clothes, he averted his eyes slightly, but the woman seemed not to notice or care. Someone else skidded to a stop behind him, and a moment later Eamon resumed his human form and hobbled up next to Richard.  
  
"This would certainly seem bizarre on most nights," the Irishman commented dryly. Richard nodded in mute agreement, unsure of how to handle the large, naked woman before him. The two Fianna watched as another pair of the weresharks appeared in the alley, and one of them dropped a ten pound brick of C-4 at the woman's feet. She nodded to the one that had brought the explosives, then turned to regard the two Garou with her cold, predatory stare.  
  
"One escaped on small boat," the woman said simply. "Know that you allies of Rokea."  
  
"As we consider you allies," Richard said. "Allies, and friends."  
  
"Friends," the woman said, as though the word was unfamiliar to her. Slowly she turned to her two comrades, and gestured for them to leave. As they did so, the woman knelt by Ian's side, and put one hand on his forehead, wiping away some of the blood. Then she straightened his broken leg out, and finally stood up.  
  
"Boy will live," she stated simply. Before Richard could say anything to her, the woman turned and started out of the alley, disappearing into the darkness. For a long moment Richard and Eamon watched her leave, then turned to face each other.  
  
"Yer arm looks bad," the Irishman stated simply, regarding the Ahroun's shattered shoulder.  
  
"Your side looks just as well," Richard replied, seeing the horrible burns that covered the Irishman from his shoulder to his waist. Eamon smiled a little.  
  
"So now what?" he asked.  
  
"Do you know how to pilot a freighter?" Richard inquired in reply.  
  
"No," Eamon answered.  
  
"Well, I guess we'll just float here for a little bit, then," Richard commented. He turned and regarded the hold of the Regina Maersk, now littered with more than two score corpses. "What a night."  
  
Epilogue  
  
"Maybe we should have asked that wereshark to leave Ian's leg broken."  
  
"At least we'd know where he is," Eamon agreed, leaning back on his towel and taking in the last rays of the sun as it dipped below the western horizon. After their ordeal in the North Atlantic, Richard, Eamon, and Ian had been treated to the lap of luxury by the Marquis Jean-Luc Montcalm of Nice, and the extensive properties of the Silver Fang noble included several miles of private beaches along the picturesque coastline of southern France. While it had hardly been the intention of Richard or Eamon to stay in France for more than a couple of days, the aristocratic Garou that was presently hosting them seemed almost insulted by the thought that his hospitality would be turned down, and the two Fianna had reluctantly agreed to stay. Eamon took another long drink of the bottle of burgundy wine that he and Richard had liberated from the Marquis' wine cellar, and looked over the beach once more. "I canna believe he's already gettin' lost. It's only been five days!"  
  
"Leave it to a hyper Corax to shrug off near fatal injuries and a week long coma," Richard commented, taking the bottle as Eamon handed it over to him. The Ahroun took a long swig, and then turned to Eamon. "So, how long do you think it'll be before we've overstayed our welcome?"  
  
"Us?" Eamon said. "We'd be more than welcome fer the rest of our lives, but I canna say the same fer Ian. Do ye think the Marquis has any idea of the mistake he made?"  
  
"I think he'll figure it out soon enough," Richard replied, leaning back and watching the last rays of the sun play off the waters of the Mediterranean. He watched the sea for only a minute before he heard someone running down the beach towards the two Fianna, and both he and Eamon looked back to see Ian rushing down the path that led up to the manor house of the Marquis. The Corax dropped to the ground next to Richard with a grin spread across his face, and took the bottle of burgundy from Richard. He took a huge gulp of wine, then handed the bottle back to Richard and wiped his mouth.  
  
"Wow, it's gotta be at least half a mile from here to the manor house!" the Corax noted, still trying to catch his breath. Richard and Eamon both glanced up to the path, then back to Ian.  
  
"Got yerself into trouble?" Eamon inquired, picking up the bottle of burgundy wine and taking another mouthful. Ian laughed.  
  
"Me? Never!" the Corax exclaimed. He glanced up the beach for a second, then turned back to the two Fianna. "By the way, have you seen the Marquis?"  
  
"Not yet," Richard replied. "Have you seen his daughter?"  
  
"Me? What? Nnnnnoooooo," Ian replied quickly. "You know how Silver Fangs are. Stuffy, noble, nothing to do with a pauper like me."  
  
"Uh huh," Eamon said, unconvinced.  
  
"I mean it!" Ian said. "I mean, do you really think that the eighteen year old, stunningly beautiful, filthy rich, engaged to a Silver Fang hero in Germany, Yvonne Montcalm would want anything to do with little old me?"  
  
"This doesna sound good," Eamon muttered. Richard shook his head, and turned back to the path. Sure enough, someone was charging down from the manor house with a long, metallic object in his hands.  
  
"Is that the Marquis?" Richard inquired, watching the Silver Fang noble reach the beach and stop to look around quickly. "And does he have a shotgun?"  
  
"Probably loaded with birdshot," Eamon commented, following Richard's line of sight. Ian stood up quickly.  
  
"Well, I'll see you guys later," the Corax said with a bit of a nervous grin. Then he shifted into his raven form and flew off towards the village that stood on the other side of the hills to the west. For a long moment Eamon and Richard watched him go, then turned back as the Marquis Jean Luc Montcalm rushed down to the beach, twelve gauge in hand.  
  
"Where is that bird?" he demanded angrily, his eyes scanning the beach and the sky for any sign of Ian. Richard and Eamon looked at each other for a moment, then the Irishman turned back to the Marquis.  
  
"We donna know," Eamon replied. "Have ye asked Yvonne yet?"  
  
The Marquis glared at Eamon for a moment, then rushed off again along the beach towards the village.  
  
"That was wrong on so many levels," Richard said dryly, taking the bottle of burgundy and drinking down a swig.  
  
"Looks like we'll leaving tonight," Eamon corrected, standing up. Richard looked out at the water one more time, then got up himself.  
  
"And I was really just starting to enjoy myself," the Fianna grumbled as he followed Eamon back to the manor house.  



End file.
